The Life and Times of Uther Pendragon
by GuildedDragonfly
Summary: A brief walk through time revealing Uther’s past loves and the real family ties between Morgause, Morgana and Arthur.
1. Deathbed

_**Summary: **__A brief walk through time revealing the major events in Uther's life, his past loves and the real family ties between Morgause, Morgana and Arthur._

_**Rating:**__ T for some violence in later chapters_

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own anything… obviously_

_**Spoilers: **__This is technically a prequel so shouldn't spoil anything – but you do need to have watched at least a little Merlin to get the references!_

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_**Chapter 1: Deathbed**_

A dim light flickered eerily up the walls of the darkened bed chamber, the air thick with incense and the low murmurings of the priestess. Courtiers, advisors and noblemen stood respectfully around the prone form of the King, laid out, as he had been these last three months, on his regal canopied bed, carefully ensconced in thick blankets. There was a strange feeling of anticipation and sadness mingling in the hearts of the onlookers as Gaius, the newly appointed court physician, signalled quietly that there was nothing more he could do.

"Is he here?" asked the King in a rasping voice, barely above a whisper, his breathing shallow and laboured.

"He is my Lord," confirmed Vortigern, his closest and most trusted advisor. Turning from where he had been crouching over the King, in order to hear any last words he may utter, his eyes sought out the youngest member of the sombre group. Vortigern's features were long and pinched and his clipped, tapered beard did nothing to soften his appearance. He raised his arm now and with long narrow fingers, gestured for the boy, not quite a man, to approach the bed.

Obediently, the boy knelt quickly next to the King and, taking his hand gently in his own, he spoke softly in his ear, "I am here Father."

"Uther…" breathed the King with obvious joy, his sightless eyes straining to catch a glimpse of him, "I have always been proud of you my boy…" he paused to catch his breath, "Now Constans will rule in my place and you must make him proud also."

"I will Father," Uther assured him earnestly, fiercely swallowing his emotion at the nearness of his Father's death.

"Aurelius also will make a fine commander for the Knights…" again, exhaustion overtook the King and he struggled to regain his breath.

"Please Father, do not trouble yourself-"

"Listen to me Uther," interjected the King, a scarcely seen strength re-entering his eyes, "I know that you are third in line for the throne… and as such may never wear the crown… but you must find your place in the Kingdom…" a quiet hush fell as all strained to hear what the King would say.

The silence stretched on and for a moment it seemed as though the King has already begun his journey to Avalon. Then his eyes flickered once more and his hoarse voice struggled out into the room, "I know you can sometimes be impatient and headstrong child, so it is my wish that you marry a woman who will compliment your strengths… Vortigern has made the arrangements… you are to be betrothed to Ygraine de Bois…"

"Betrothed?..." echoed Uther in surprise. _This was my Father's last wish?_ He thought to himself, disappointment rising in his throat. _Am I not to be given some position of command like my Brother? Not even a dukedom to rule as a vassal for Constans?_

Constantine II, the imminently departing present ruler of Albion, closed his eyes once more and loosened his grip on his youngest son, signalling to him that he had spoken all he wished. Uther rose awkwardly and stepped back from his Father's side, rejoining his two older brothers at the foot of the bed.

Constans, the eldest and next in line for the throne, stood a clear six inches taller than Uther. Just under ten years his senior, Constans had spent his life in preparation for the Kingship, first as commander of the Knights, then officially becoming Crown Prince; his experience in battle and his wisdom making him loved by his men and the common people alike. His serious blue eyes stared unwaveringly at his Father, the responsibility of the task he would finally be taking up weighing heavily on his shoulders.

To Constans' left stood Aurelius; second in line to the throne and newly appointed commander of the Royal Knights. His piercing green eyes peered out from beneath his jet black hair as he watched Vortigern fawn over the elderly King; there had never been any love lost between the two and seeing him so close to his Father in his final moments irked him tremendously.

As the minutes dragged on Constantine was no longer able to open his eyes and he slipped into a fitful sleep, his breathing becoming more and more shallow, his skin turning a pallid shade of grey, until finally it could be heard no more. Gaius stepped up to the royal bed, carefully felt the King's wrist then lowered his ear to his mouth to check for signs of breathing. Satisfied, he slowly straightened himself and turned to the expectant crowd.

"He has passed…" he said quietly.

Immediately the cry was taken up by Vortigern and the fellow courtiers and noblemen lining the walls, "The King is dead! Long live the King!"

It seemed to Uther that he could hear the bells almost instantaneously ringing out over the city, as if they had known in advance when this moment would arrive. The echoed cry of "The King is dead!" could be heard rebounding from street to street until the air was alive with the news.

Vortigern turned from the old King, as Gaius respectfully lifted the white sheet that had been tucked around him up over his head and approached the new King of Albion. Kneeling obsequiously before him he affected a deep bow, spreading his arms wide in submission, "My King," he said with great reverence and immediately the other men in the room all followed his example, showing their allegiance to his rule.

"Vortigern, you have served my Father well," said Constans gravely, "You may retire for the night; it has been a long few months for us all I think. I will remain with my Father tonight."

"I also shall remain," said Aurelius stepping up beside his elder brother.

"And I," echoed Uther with determination, unable to take his eyes from the misshapen form beneath the sheet in front of him.

"My Lord and my Princes, it is a noble thing indeed to see such loyalty to our beloved ruler," replied Vortigern, bowing his head again before the royal family, "However I hope it would not be deemed impertinent for me to advise you as I have done your Father these last fifteen years?"

"You may speak," said Constans curtly.

"Tomorrow we must proceed with your coronation," replied Vortigern, inclining his head beseechingly, "and I believe it may benefit the people to see their new King well rested and focused on his new duties… in my humble opinion of course."

Constans considered these words for a moment, appraising his new advisor with a cool look, before turning to his two brothers, "Come Aurelius, Uther, let us to our beds – Vortigern is right, we must prepare for tomorrow. Our staying here can serve no purpose to our Father now."

One by one the three brothers exited the royal bed chamber and made their way back down the corridors to their own respective rooms.

Uther closed his door behind him with a sigh, pulling off his boots dejectedly as he sank onto his bed. Sebring, his serving man, had already laid his night shirt out for him and turned down his bed and the young Prince was quick to crawl gratefully under the covers.

As his eyes began to close he tried not to dwell on his rising disappointment at not having been granted more position and authority by his late Father. He determined that he would acquit himself well over the coming months and his brother would be sure to make up for his Father's oversight. With a sigh he rolled over and thought of his betrothal to Ygraine; he had only met her once, years ago, at a function his Father and hosted to honour the great houses of Albion. He had been just sixteen and at the time more focused on his swordsmanship than anything else. Still… he remembered her beauty and decided that marriage could have been a much worse proclamation - thinking with a shudder of the match his Father had arranged for poor Aurelius. Some artists were simply not to be trusted when it came to depicting foreign princesses, he decided.

As his mind wandered toward an uneasy slumber, he dreamed of great crowds bowing at his feet, their cries of adoration filling his ears, feet stamping the ground in applaud…

"Uther, quickly you must stir yourself immediately!" shouted a voice through the darkness, mingling itself in the Prince's sleep addled brain so that when he peered at the source of this voice his eyes were full of confusion.

"Aurelius? Wha-… what's going on?"

At once his brother was by his side, lifting his covers off and dragging him bodily from the bed, "You must dress at once!" Aurelius hissed, throwing the clothes that Uther had discarded a few hours ago back at his head, "And gird on your sword, there's no time to lose."

Panicked adrenalin coursed through Uther's veins as he fumbled with the fastenings of his jacket, hastily bucking his sword to his side as he stared uneasily at his brother who was stood with his ear pressed close to the door. Muffled sounds of voices and the pounding of feet could be heard intermittently and Uther slipped quietly to his side, anxious to know what had happened in the few short hours that he had slept.

Aurelius reached out a hand and grasped Uther by the jerkin, pulling him closer to him, "Constans is murdered," he said bluntly, Uther's eyes growing wide with shock at this news, "Vortigern has betrayed us both and now I fear we must flee the Kingdom or else face a similar fate."

"Murdered?" repeated Uther dumbfounded, his mind unable to process the information, "But he is King!"

"Not until the coronation tomorrow," corrected his Brother grimly, holding up his hand to silence the younger man as he eased the door open once more and peered into the darkness. Satisfied, he turned again to Uther, "Come brother we are not safe here, Vortigern has turned the castle on its head. There is no telling what loyalties we still hold."

Anger broiled darkly beneath the young Prince's skin, impotent rage that so callus an act could force them, the rightful heirs, to flee for their lives like whipped dogs.

"Stand not amazed man, come on – follow close to me," urged Aurelius impatiently as he set off down the passageway, moving stealthily amongst the shadows.

Taking a deep breath Uther followed in his path, not stopping to look back at the room he had called his own since infancy. As he melted into the darkness after his brother he ran from the castle, from the city… from everything he had previously known.

More shouts could be heard now and torches of fire lit up the sky at sporadic intervals throughout the township of the castle. Aurelius ran quickly to a secluded stable and inside, Sebring and Colwyn, his own manservant, silently handed them each the reigns to a saddled mount before gathering their own horses and following them into the street. In a few tense moments they were out of the castle and into the village proper, their hooves pounding into the dry dirt as they put distance between themselves and the castle walls. Uther began to breath more easily as that distance increased, but still on they pressed, ever further into the countryside, into the darkness… and into the icy arms of the unknown.

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**A/N Ok – so I know that a couple of people have done some fics on Uther's back story but its something that I just can't get out of my head so this is my take on the matter. Oh and when I say the "Real" family ties between Morgause, Morgana and Arthur…. I mean of course the ones that exist in my imagination :) Enjoy…**


	2. Sojourn in Brittany

_**Chapter 2: Sojourn in Brittany **_

A heavy mist hung over the encampment, the sound of early morning birdsong echoing eerily through its shadows. Uther flung the course material of his tent open, stepping out into the chill morning air and stretched deeply. As he rubbed the stiffness from his neck and shoulder he surveyed the growing field of tents and makeshift shelters that littered the countryside around him.

_Four long years_, he thought with a sigh. He had been just eighteen when he and his brother had fled Albion and sought refuge with Gaul, finally settling here in Brittany. Cholthar II, King of all the Franks, had granted them safe passage in return for their support of his rule in uniting Gaul and here they had stayed, slowly gathering arms and men; awaiting the time when they could strike back at the usurper Vortigern. Uther had come of age in a foreign country and his fingers tingled with the anticipation of having his revenge on the wily old goat that had taken everything from him.

Peering through the mist, Uther spotted his brother at a rough-hewn table, intently studying a pile of parchments and crude maps and he hurried over to join him, eager for any news of their homeland.

"Good morrow Aurelius," he said, his eyes darting quickly over the papers laid out before them, "What news have you from Albion?"

"Greetings brother, not good news for the people I'm afraid… but good for us none the less," Aurelius replied.

"How so?" Uther questioned quizzically.

"Vortigern the rat has taken a second wife – Rowena of Saxony."

"A Saxon?" exclaimed Uther in horror, "He would not dare!"

"It seems he has formed an alliance with Hengist and Horsa in exchange for Hengist's daughter's hand in marriage," continued Aurelius, his eyes flashing in anger, "I have just received reports that that saucy vixen has now convinced Vortigern to grant Hengist vassal rights over the Kingdom of Thanet. The Saxons sweep the land as we speak and our people are left destitute."

Uther clenched his fists angrily in impotent rage, kicking at the tree stump that served as foundation to the table before him, "Must our whole country be torn apart before we can end this madness Aurelius?"

His brother and rightful King of Albion stared grimly at him, his green eyes alight with the fire of redemption, "As terrible as this news is I do believe it is in our favour," he said urgently, turning once again to stare at the maps and diagrams of his beloved country, "The people are in uproar and there is talk of civil war… there has never been a better time to strike at Vortigern than now."

"Even against Saxons?" asked Uther, no trace of cowardice in his voice, simply curiosity at his brother's plans.

"They will be nothing compared to the army that we shall amass, the people and the nobleman shall unite as one," he replied ardently, gripping Uther's shoulders as he spoke, "That slithering snake spread countless lies about our brother and convinced the court and the common people to follow him like sheep… now his fruits have shown him to be oozing with rot and he will pay dearly for his treachery."

Uther rested his hand firmly on Aurelius's shoulder, nodding confidently in agreement, "I do not doubt you my King, for that is what you rightfully are… I will fight with you to the death."

Aurelius grinned suddenly, his impetuous nature dazzling Uther as he flung his arm around his younger brother's shoulder, "To the death indeed Uther but let us not get ahead of ourselves and wish to be immortalised in Avalon before our time," gripping Uther in a playful headlock he tousled his hair good humouredly, "Think of that beautiful wife languishing in Albion just waiting for your betrothal to be consummated… we shall make a man of you yet brother!"

Twisting himself free from his brothers grasp Uther rubbed his neck in mock displeasure, "And what of you Aurelius Ambrosius, rightful King of all Albion… will _you_ uphold our Father's wishes and honour your betrothal to Margarete? The Princess who's name is fairer than her face?"

Aurelius clasped his hands behind his back, his face taking on a serious and stern look as he regarded his younger brother. Uther's face fell as he sensed he had perhaps gone too far, "As King I will of course honour my Father and uphold the proposed marriage to Margarete… and…" he added, a devilish glint appearing in his eye, "any other young strumpet who happens to wander my way."

Laughing loudly at his own joke, Aurelius pushed Uther before him, punching his arm in mirth, "Come brother, you must meet our latest allies who will no doubt make our noble war a success."

Two men sat speaking in low voices next to the long dead remains of a large camp fire. Both were dressed simply with thick, heavy cloaks wrapped protectively around them. The older of the two sported a rough silvery-white beard, his skin deeply lined with age and his pouched eyes were red from lack of sleep. The younger had jet black hair and soft brown eyes that peered out sagely from beneath his heavy eyebrows.

"Alwyn!" cried Aurelius warmly as they approached the two men, grasping the older man's arm in greeting, "tell me you got at least a little rest and did not sit up _all_ night by the fire?"

"These are troubling times Sire," replied the silver-haired man, smiling sadly at the young would-be king, "There is much to discuss."

"Of course old friend but you must keep your strength about you also," refuted Aurelius as he raised his arm to gesture at Uther, "This is my brother, Uther Pendragon, he is my second in command here in Brittany."

Uther pulled back his shoulders and puffed out his chest proudly at these words and grasped Alwyn's arm in his own in greeting.

"Alwyn is the much revered leader of the eastern provincial order of Druids and he has come to join our cause and rid Albion of Vortigern and his Saxon scum."

"The whole land weeps under his tyranny Aurelius; I will not rest until the people are free."

"Nor I," agreed his brown eyed companion, rising from his position next to the spent fire to stand beside the three men.

"Forgive me," interjected Alwyn, extending his arm toward his companion, "This man has long held a trusted place among the Druids; he is a Dragonlord and has sworn to use his gifts to our benefit."

"Greetings Sire, my Lord," said the Dragonlord, bowing briefly at Aurelius and nodding his head in respect at Uther, "I am your servant and will aid you any way I can… my name is Balinor."

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	3. The Ruin of the Proud Usurper, Vortigern

_**WARNING: This chapter may contain strong bloody violence, scenes of prolonged tension and some flashing images. No animals were harmed in the making of this fiction…**_

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_**3. The ruin of the proud usurper, **__**Tyrannus**__** Vortigern**_

Uther fell heavily to his knees behind the relative protection of an upturned cart as he fought desperately to catch his breath. His face was streaked with grime and he could feel rivulets of sweat working their way down his back beneath his chain mail. To his left crouched his brother, his piercing eyes staring intently at the thick stone wall before him as he calculated his next move.

Their march to Albion had been a festive affair at first, each village so relieved to see their return that they had run cheering into the streets, the women waving scraps of cloth and the children laughing and chasing after them as they continued their journey toward the city. They had seen a great many signs of Vortigern's tyrannical and oppressive rule as they made their way closer to their target, the villages showing increasing signs of damage, many reduced to nothing more than burnt out shells which Vortigern's Saxon cronies had attacked again and again.

It had taken them three tiring months to reach the actual Pendragon citadel that Vortigern had naturally made his stronghold, pushed back time and again by pockets of Saxons and noblemen, loyal to the pretender king, who had engaged in combat with them along the way. But now here they were, their numbers having swelled to such proportions that they could now completely surround the castle walls, pinning the usurper, his poisonous wife and all his followers inside. Now they were at the crux of their campaign and everything was at stake.

Behind Uther, Balinor made his way into a clearing. He was flanked on all sides by four soldiers, forming an impregnable ring around him to shield him from attack and the onslaught of arrows that were raining down from the walls. Balinor himself seemed unfazed by the activity around him; his face was calm and serene as he gazed intently up at the great hulking creature beside him. Kilgharrah, the Great Dragon loomed out of the shadows, his thick hide easily deflecting the razor sharp arrow heads fired at him.

As the Dragon moved into position, guided and directed by Balinor; Aurelius raised his arm to signal his men to stand ready. An eerie hush fell over the men as they all watched their king in anticipation of the attack, leaving just the sound of the arrows as they snickered through the air and the distant cry of commands being shouted from the far walls of the castle. Uther slowly placed his helmet on his head, gripping his sword experimentally in his hand as he readied himself for battle.

Leaving his right arm raised above his head, Aurelius now lifted his left and motioned to Balinor to come forward. In one fluid motion, beast and man as one, Balinor and Kilgharrah rushed forward toward the castle walls, the four guards desperately moving to protect their charge. With a fearsome cry, Kilgharrah reared up onto his hindquarters, drawing his head back and discharging an almighty stream of fire at the giant metal-studded wooden doors of the castle. Balinor raised both hands in an upward gesture and Kilgharrah needed no further instruction; with one graceful leap his wings spread wide and he banked swiftly up into the air, spiralling once over the heads of the terrified soldiers that lined the walls, before dropping a new torrent of flames on their heads.

Aurelius and his men knelt ready in the dirt, their veins thrumming with adrenalin, waiting for the Dragon to do his work. With a wrenching groan the old door began to buckle under the intensity of the flames that licked greedily at its wooden timbers, the framework starting to fall away from the surrounding stone. With another nod of his head, Aurelius signalled two groups of his men to approach the door; one group carrying a heavy battering ram, the other group supporting a large triangular shield held over their heads to protect them all from falling missiles.

With the sentries atop the wall so heavily under attack from the Dragon there was little hindrance to the work of the men and with an almighty heave the battering ram thudded heavily into the blazing wood. The ram had been soaked in water beforehand to stop it too from being engulfed in fire and now the wood smoked angrily as it sank repeatedly into the flames. With one last charge the men surged toward the weakening wood and the doors buckled with a sickening crack, finally collapsing and exposing a gaping hole in the defences of the castle.

A hearty battle cry ripped from Aurelius' throat as he brought his right arm down to signal the attack. The cry was echoed in unison by his men, Knights and common-men alike, bodies streaming from the darkness and running full pelt toward the opening in the gates.

Hoards of men swarmed into the confined space of the castle's courtyard, clashing fiercely with the opposition. Uther leaped over the burning remains of the doorway to join the fray and met immediately with the full swing of an enemy sword, ducking nimbly to the side and countering the attack blow for blow. All around him came the screeching sound of metal on metal, the crunch of a mace breaking through bone, the clean slice of a sword cutting through soft tissue and the gurgling cries of fallen men.

Rising up behind this gory carnage was the steep slope of the main castle fortress. High up on its battlements stood Vortigern, his cold eyes staring in anger out of his pinched face. On his right stood his beautiful and cunning wife Rowena and on his left stood a man bedecked in the regalia of a priest of the old religion. His cloak was a deep purple and his long greying beard whipped out behind him in the wind.

Alwyn strode quickly to the centre of the courtyard, a gap in the bloodbath appearing inexplicably around him. He cast his eyes upward, using his hand as a visor to help him peer through the gloom at his quarry.

"Mabon!" he shouted, his voice booming and echoing around the walls of the courtyard, "Are you nothing but a delicate vase that must be kept out of harms way on your pedestal? You are a trembling daisy indeed to cower so fearfully on your battlements!"

"You harness the force of the Great Dragon and it is _I_ who is the coward?" spat the sorcerer in reply, "You will not taunt me into leaving my King unprotected."

"He is nothing but a servant!" Roared Aurelius, bringing his sword arm crashing down on his hapless opponent, severing his head from his shoulders in one slick movement, "And I will rip the crown from your lifeless body this very night Vortigern, do you hear me?"

Vortigern made no reply, his paling skin speaking volumes as he and his wife stepped further from the edge of the battlements and out of Aurelius's eye line.

Kilgharrah made another sweep of the castle walls, swathing them in further streams of fire before rising swiftly into the air out of reach of the arrows and spears hurled in his direction. The light of a protective force field shone momentarily around the three figures on the battlements and it became clear how Mabon's powers were protecting his Sovereign, as the Dragon's flames rolled harmlessly off them.

"You think I cannot reach you up there, maggot?" taunted Alwyn, commanding a bolt of brilliant white energy and crackle through the air, striking at Mabon and his protective shield with great force. High on the wall above, Mabon staggered slightly under the intensity of the blow, before regaining his foothold and shooting a bolt of energy of his own back at Alwyn, his face grimacing at the effort.

As the two sorcerers continued to battle one another, Aurelius's men fought on valiantly, tirelessly battling the seemingly never ending stream of enemy guards pouring from the castle to defend their king.

As the commander Prince tore his way through the opposition, he saw suddenly that the men protecting Balinor were being especially targeted, each one being picked off one by one until the Dragonlord was now almost defenceless, his own face blissfully ignorant of this fact as he gazed intently at his Dragon charge.

"Balinor!" he cried urgently, his panicked voice causing nothing but the smallest of flickers of recognition to pass across Balinor's serious face. Leaping from the top of a lower rampart, Aurelius ran to protect the Dragonlord, shouting at his men within reach to do the same. Hefting his sword through the air he bought its well honed blade down on the exposed back of an enemy soldier, knocking him sideways onto his knees but not before the mace the soldier had been swinging found its target and sunk its teeth into the flesh of Balinor's upper thigh.

Giving a startled cry at the pain shooting through his leg, Balinor stared at the blood seeping profusely from the wound in confusion, as if it did not belong to him at all. The Dragon, distressed by the sudden break in their mental link, faltered in his attack, circling aimlessly around in the night sky.

Mabon took this momentary cease fire from Kilgharrah as his queue to usher the Usurper King and his Saxon bride back inside the relative protection of the main castle building, away from the full force of the flames – and began his attack on Alwyn in earnest. The latter courageously dug his heels into the dirt, meeting the intensified attack in equal measure.

Aurelius swiftly tied a length of rope around Balinor's leg, inserted a short piece of splintered wood into the loop and twisted it to form a makeshift tourniquet, stemming the flow of blood from the mace wound. "Can you continue?" he asked beseechingly, his fingers gripping Balinor's shoulders intently.

"I can sire," Balinor replied, grimly hoisting himself into an upright position and closing his eyes in concentration to rejoin his mind to Kilgharrah's.

On the battle raged and Uther could no longer feel his fingers, so numb they had become from the constant action of his sword locking teeth with his opponent's. He sidestepped yet another jarring blow, jumping quickly back as the blade swiped forward across the plackart of his armour. His feet were quick but not quite quick enough as the hilt of his challenger's sword swung back and caught him a glancing blow to the head, causing the visor to his helmet to snap back - another sudden blow all it took to knock his helmet clear from his head. Blinking away the stars that burst across his vision, Uther was able to block the next strike, twisting sideways and thrusting his own sword in between the crease of his attackers armour, sinking the blade into his heart from beneath the armpit and out again in one clean movement.

As he reached to retrieve his lost helmet, another soldier raced forward to replace his fallen comrade and it was all Uther could do to raise his sword, before the curved blade of an axe crashed into his skull. He felt the cool blade slice into his skin, burning a deep diagonal trail from the hairline of his right temple all the way down to his eyebrow. Pushing up against the shaft of the axe with all his might, Uther desperately parried the attack from his new opponent, blinded as he was by the river of blood running into his right eye from his head wound. The light weight of his sword gave him the tactical advantage compared to the cumbersome weight of the axe wielded by the other man and soon he too had joined his fallen companion in the dirt. Pausing only to scrape the blood quickly from his eye, Uther turned and plunged once more into the skirmish, ramming his helmet onto his head as he went.

Bodies littered every square foot of the courtyard, some dead, some injured; neither side showing any sign of conceding defeat. Alwyn shuddered under the attack of another blast of lightening from Mabon, his eyes following the path of the Dragon intently as he circled the battlements above. He could sense his own powers beginning to fail and knew that Aurelius would have no chance at victory if Mabon and his protective shield were allowed to continue. His old, tired eyes took in the carnage of the battlefield around him, resting finally on Aurelius himself. If there was to be peace and prosperity in Albion once more there was but one thing he could do.

Summoning up every last vestige of strength, Alwyn struck out at Mabon with renewed vigour, before stepping imperceptibly backwards from his original position, drawing Mabon slowly forward to the edge of the battlements as he did so.

Laughing, Mabon too increased the intensity of his attack, not realising his position was being so greatly compromised, "Concede old man! Your strength will soon be fully spent!"

"Then we shall go together rat!" cried Alwyn, suddenly redirecting the force of his charge, aiming instead at the foundation of the battlements, causing the masonry to crumble and Mabon to teeter precariously on the edge of the castle wall. This momentary surprise caused the proud sorcerer to lose his grip on his protective shield for an instant. Alwyn had depended upon this fact and timed this very moment perfectly, for no sooner had the shield dissipated than Kilgharrah made another pass of the battlements and bathed Mabon in a molten bath of liquid fire and brimstone. His skin blistered and popped and his wretched cries sang out into the cold night air as his writhing body plummeted down from his vantage point, hitting the ground with a sickening thump, the fat on his bones feeding the flames hungrily.

Both Aurelius and Uther heard the cry and witnessed the end of Mabon the dark sorcerer, their eyes dropping in unison to the prone form of Alwyn lying unmoving on the ground. In redirecting his charge to target the battlements, he had knowingly exposed himself to the full force of Mabon's attack… the effects of which had stilled his heart inside his chest.

There was no time, however, to mourn the loss of Alwyn as the news spread that the entrance ways into the castle were no longer stopped up by Mabon. The cry of revenge for years of torment and oppression bubbled over in the hearts of the common people and they surged one and all into the castle, brandishing their makeshift weapons and blazing torches.

"Stop you fools!" shouted Aurelius, desperately trying to prevent the mob from passing through the doorway and completely destroying his Father's castle in their thirst for Vortigern's blood. His words were lost amongst the din of the crowd and he, Uther and his depleted guard were thrust easily to one side.

Staggering back toward the courtyard, Aurelius was forced to watch as one by one the windows of the ancient Keep took on a haunting orange glow as the flames took hold and swept throughout the building.

Satisfied with their work, the people now fled the castle, pouring in streams down the steps, some carrying souvenirs and items stolen hurriedly from the royal chambers. The old gatehouse and the outer walls of the Keep were hastily barricaded and the muffled cries of those locked inside crept plaintively to their ears.

There was a wild look of fury in the eyes of Aurelius Ambrosius, second son of Constantine II and rightful heir to the throne, as he watched his beloved castle eaten up in flames. Vortigern and Rowena would meet their fiery end and the kingship would be his… but the sweet taste of justice and redemption was marred by this incomprehensible loss, even as the smoke billowed out as a deadly sign that Vortigern's reign was at an end.


	4. The Morning After the Fight Before

_**A/N - So this is more like 3(b) – just a little after-battle action that would have made the last chapter way way too long… Plus, virtual cookies go to Pink Koala for spotting an absent Gaius… oh wait here he is ;)**_

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_**4. The Morning After the Fight Before**_

In the cruel light of dawn, the Pendragon Castle was a sorry sight to behold. Pale columns of smoke curled their way into the morning air from the burnt-out ruin of the main building, its blackened stones weakened and cracked by the flames. Debris, refuse and the victims of battle littered the surrounding area as work began in earnest to bury the dead and attend to the wounded.

Uther stood solemnly next to his brother as the body of Alwyn the Benevolent was brought forward and placed on a bier, his Druid compatriots wrapping him tightly in linen cloth lined with cloves, in preparation for the journey back to his home settlement where he would be properly cremated.

Aurelius approached Abraith, a peer of Alywn who was leading his fellow Druids home in place of the great leader, "Is there anything more I can offer you to aid your journey my friend?" he asked, grasping the shorter man's arm sincerely.

"You have given us horses and provisions my Lord," he replied with a sad smile, "We Druids are simple people, we would ask for nothing more." Aurelius's eyes searched Abraith's for a moment, the older Druid sagging slightly under his scrutiny and the burden of the news he must carry home to his people.

"If it were not for Alwyn's sacrifice, I fear that all would have been lost yesterday… we are ever in your debt."

"Your debt is not to us alone my King, it is to all the people of Albion," counselled the Druid, "It is a debt that can be repaid only in your sound rulership and your oath to restore peace to the land and drive the enemy Saxons out."

"You speak wisely Abraith," he replied gravely, "and rest assured, that debt shall be paid in full. The weight of the crown is a responsibility I shall not take lightly."

"That I know Aurelius," rejoined the Druid with a small smile, grasping his arm by way of farewell, "Alwyn could see Constantine's heart beating inside your chest – Albion will rejoice under your reign as it did your Father's before you."

"Kind words my friend, and ones that I shall strive to live up to," said Aurelius sincerely, "I will see to it that Alwyn is honoured for his sacrifice… safe journey to you all."

The simple wooden bier was lifted onto the waiting shoulders of eight of the red-robed men and the small band of Druids slowly began their sombre journey. As the last members of their party made their way out of the remains of the courtyard, Aurelius turned at last to his brother, taking in his appearance for the first time since victory had been declared.

"You are injured Brother," he said, gesturing at the dried blood matted into his hair and the gory mess of the open wound that snaked its way across his forehead, "We must fetch a physician."

"There are others in a far worse state that I, Balinor for one cannot last much longer," Uther replied, his eyes glancing around at the unending groups of men lying wounded on the ground. Some were moaning pitifully to themselves, clutching rough bandages to their seeping cuts, the worst of them simply staring into nothingness, their injuries untended and their life's blood trickling into the ground, making the dirt take on a gruesome coppery hue. Balinor himself lay on his back, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he struggled with the pain. His skin was a deathly pale and his leg had become grey and cold as the blood had been cut off for too long by the tourniquet. "Besides," he added, "there are no physicians to be found Aurelius; we are patching up the men as best we can."

Aurelius nodded slowly, his eyes revealing the weight of the monumental task still ahead. The war had been won but the continuing battle to restore order and security to the land would be a long one. "What of Gaius?" he asked suddenly, "I was sure I saw his face after the battle, has he too been slain?"

"No Sire – but he _was _discovered tending the wounds of our enemies," replied Uther gravely, "He has been restrained and is with the other traitors awaiting trial for their crimes against the crown."

The older brother stared at his sibling for a moment, mentally taking stock of the injured and the wounded that surrounded them before nodding his head as if agreeing with his own internal dialogue, "Bring him before me at once, I would speak with him now."

"As you wish Brother," confirmed Uther, baffled at his intentions but obedient to his command none-the-less.

A guard was dispatched to fetch the good Doctor and within moments a weary, battered looking Gaius stood stoically before them, no trace of remorse or fear in his eyes.

Aurelius regarded the physician for a while, taking in his greying brown hair, his earnest blue-grey eyes and his unflinching stance before him. "What say you to the charge of treason Gaius?"

"I deny it my Lord," he replied calmly.

"And do you deny that you aided the enemy of the crown as well?"

"No my Lord."

"That is a contradiction is it not?" demanded Aurelius in frustration. "Tell me outright, where do your loyalties lie?"

"As a man Sire, I serve you with all my heart and strength," confirmed Gaius, "But as a physician, I have no such distinction."

"Speak plainly man!"

"My loyalties, Sire, do not lie with man nor crown," he reiterated categorically, "My loyalties are wholly with the sick and those in need of my care."

Again the new ruler of Albion stared thoughtfully at the older man, puzzling out his frank and honest responses, "And that would include sworn enemies of the kingdom?"

Gaius took a deep breath, weighing each word carefully upon his tongue, "I wonder my Lord," he said at last, "How well you would trust my skills as a physician if I had such loyalties that _could _be swayed – instead of a solemn oath to help all that approach me for aid?"

Aurelius pondered on those words for a moment, then the look of distrust suddenly cleared from his eyes and a broad grin spread across his face, "You are right of course Gaius, old friend," he said jovially, clapping him soundly on the back, "Guards, unbind him at once, he has work to attend to!"

"Thank you Sire," Gaius replied, as if no other outcome had been possible.

"You must see to Balinor first," urged Uther, guiding the physician in the direction of the wounded Dragonlord, "I fear death will almost surely be upon him before too long."

"I beg you my Lord to also release my assistants from bondage," asked Gaius, turning away from Uther's insistent grip to look imploringly at the king, "If I am to properly treat these men I must have help, there are simply too many for me to attend to at once."

"Of course, of course," agreed Aurelius, waving impatiently at a nearby guard to carry out his request.

The three men approached the prone form of Balinor; a thin sheen of sweat coated his face and neck and his eyes flickered up toward them beneath dark and hooded lids. Gaius busied himself immediately, inspecting the wound to his upper thigh and calling for hot water, cloth for bandages and a quartering iron to be brought to him with haste.

"I will have to sear the flesh to close the wound," he stated gravely to Aurelius, "I must ask you to distract him as best you can," he then looked intently at Uther and a young knight stood to his left named Tegwin. "You will need to restrain him Prince Uther, hold him as still as you can."

"You have one more trial to face, brave Dragonlord," said Aurelius, addressing Balinor loudly as he sat himself by his head and grasped his right arm in his own, "then you may have the rest that you deserve."

"I am not brave…" wheezed Balinor, his face grimacing in pain as Gaius carefully began to clean the mangled mess of tissue and bone that had previously resembled the man's thigh, "I am not… ready for death."

"Glad to hear it!" declared Aurelius, "For we shall chase death screaming for the hills."

Balinor slowly reached his hand out and gripped the new king's wrist, "You saved my life yesterday," he whispered urgently, his breathing ragged and wet.

"It is not safe yet," interjected Gaius, his eyes never straying from the wound before him. The mutilated limb was now clean and with a low murmuring of words, the physician passed his hands slowly over the flesh.

"What was that?" asked Uther curiously.

"A simple healing incantation that I hope will help to numb the pain… although," he confessed, "I am just a novice of such arts."

Ignorant of these preparations, Balinor looked earnestly at the king, "I have never seen a man… fight as bravely as you…" he said, struggling for breath, "I am forever indebted to you…"

"Yes, yes," conceded the dark haired man with a smile and a wave, brushing off the compliments like grains of corn, "and the minstrels and the troubadours shall sing songs to recount my fame and the womenfolk will all name their babies after me."

"An honour indeed," rasped Balinor quietly, "to be named for a King."

Aurelius glanced quickly at Gaius who was preparing the quartering iron, stoking the length of metal again and again amongst the flames of a fire that had been burning fiercely since the day before, "And you Balinor?" he asked loudly, drawing his eyes from the dreaded sight, "you too would have your son named for a King?"

"I would my Lord."

The king looked at him thoughtfully before grasping his shoulder in earnest, "Then you must honour Alwyn for his sacrifice also; name your Son for the Druid form of my name Aurelius Ambrosius-"

A piercing scream erupted from Balinor's throat as Gaius touched the red hot metal to the sensitive flesh of his leg, Uther and Tegwin struggling desperately to keep him restrained as Aurelius gripped his shoulders in support.

"Bite down on this," he instructed, thrusting a length of worn leather between the Dragonlord's teeth. Balinor's palsied fingers shook at he clutched frantically at his king, his eyes bulging and his veins throbbing in his head and neck as he struggled to ride the wave of white hot pain shooting through his body.

As Gaius finally lay down the glowing length of metal, Balinor slowly relaxed, his breath escaping his lungs in broken gasps.

"There now, that was not so bad was it!" declared Aurelius with a grin as Gaius began to prepare a balsam of herbs to spread across the seared flesh.

Balinor barked once in humourless mirth, "Better that than death Sire."

"Well said indeed," agreed Aurelius with a smile as he rose to leave Gaius to his work; the worst of it over.

"My Lord!" Balinor called after him, "You did not tell me the Druid form of your name."

Aurelius paused for a moment, clasping the Dragonlord's hand kindly in his own, "Emrys," he said simply, "The Druid form of my name Ambrosius… is Emrys. It means immortality."

Balinor closed his eyes, committing the name to memory, "I just wish Sire, that I had a Son for which to name," he uttered sadly.

"One day you will my friend… one day."


	5. A Kingdom under Construction

_**In answer to the questions about the name Emrys – it is the Welsh form of the name Ambrosius and does indeed mean Immortality. What can I say… I like detail…**_

* * *

_**5: A Kingdom under Construction**_

Prince Uther stood at the newly leaded window, watching the activity below thoughtfully. It had been eleven long months since Vortigern's fall and his Brother's subsequent crowning, finally confirming him as the rightful King of Albion. Uther himself had officially been given the command of the Knights and named as second in line to the throne.

Beneath him, workmen scurried like ants across the foundations of the new castle. The site of his Father's grand citadel had been cleared and work begun anew to rebuild the Pendragon stronghold. Stone was being quarried and cut for the main Keep around the clock and men had been brought in from across the country to aid in the construction. The small gatehouse where Uther now stood was the first structure to be completed and it would house the two Royals and their entourage until the work on the castle proper was finished.

"We are making fine progress Brother," stated Aurelius, his words drawing Uther's eyes away from the industry of the men below and turn instead to face him, "The groundwork for the final tower on the east of the castle was established today."

"Ay," replied Uther, "I oversaw the laying of the cornerstone myself."

"And yet you look so glum?"

Uther sighed and folded his arms across his chest, his eyes straying once more to the progress of the work before him, "It is not the construction of the tower that concerns me Sire; it is that of the wall," he said gravely, "Hengist is still leading raids on our men and I fear we leave ourselves exposed."

"Nonsense!" scoffed Aurelius, his heavy gold crown glinting dully in the afternoon sun shining softly through the window, "Hengist and his rabble are nothing but dim-witted barbarians; our men are more than a match for them."

"And what of the attacks from darker forces that have been reported in the Kingdom?"

"Mabon was a powerful sorcerer," said the King wearily, "Once Alwyn slew him there was bound to be an insurrection of his followers and others like him to fill that void."

"You speak as if they are nothing but a mere inconvenience!" exclaimed Uther, "Yet just this morning an attempt was made on your life by a dark warlock."

"And he was thwarted easily by Abraith," replied Aurelius through gritted teeth, his annoyance at his Brothers negativity becoming increasingly obvious. "Why are you tearing apart our efforts?" he demanded, "Can you not see the glorious vision of this construction we are building together and all that it represents?"

"I see a pile of stone with no defences," rebuffed Uther cynically. His brother heaved a great sigh of frustration before throwing his arm around the Prince's shoulders and steering him back toward the window.

"Now see with your heart, not your critical eyes; where we stand now will merely make up part of the outer bailey. Those two circular foundations will form two majestic round towers, no grander entry way to a castle will there be found in all of Albion. Just behind those towers will be the main Keep with its own square tower to house the Royal chambers. There will be eight round external towers in all, ensconced in the outer battlements and within these walls will be not one but two inner courtyards. The white stone of our turrets will rise up proudly toward the sky, the Pendragon banners displayed with glory on the ramparts. It will be, not just a pile of stone as you put it – but a fortress, our walls will provide a place of peace and prosperity that will symbolise the strength and pride of our great land and the impregnability of our sovereignty."

"More so than the previous Pendragon castle?"

"This stronghold shall not be named for the House of Pendragon… it must invoke a greater sense of unity and loyalty, a sense of nobility and majesty as well as the ideals of our nation," declared Aurelius, his eyes gleaming as he painted an image of his dream to Uther, "The citadel will instead be known simply as _Camelot_."

"Camelot… land of peace," repeated Uther, trying the word out on his tongue for the first time, "Your vision for this land is a stirring one Aurelius, " he conceded at last, "I am simply concerned as to how we shall reach those goals."

"Which brings me to why I sought you out in the first place Brother," smiled the King, his clear green eyes sparkling as he clapped the Prince jovially on the back, "Abraith has agreed to stay indefinitely at court as official Sorcerer and advisor."

"That _is_ good news;" agreed Uther, "His skill and knowledge of magic and the ways of the Druids will be of great aid to the Kingdom."

"Indeed… his council is greatly valued, which is why I must request a mission of you."

Uther raised an eyebrow and cocked his head questioningly to one side, not liking the sound of this request and remaining silent, waiting for his Brother to explain.

"He has suggested a tribute to Alwyn," the King continued, unabashed, "Monolithic standing-stones, arranged into a monumental Henge, the likes of which has never before been attempted."

"You wish me to oversee a _further_ construction project?" cried the Prince in disbelief, "We shall spread our efforts too thin and will be overrun for sure!"

Aurelius frowned his displeasure at his Brother's disapproving remarks, "On the contrary," he said acidly, "This tribute to Alwyn will unite the Druids and Warlocks of Albion to our cause and ensure their continued support and protection."

Uther ran his hand across his close cropped hair in frustration, "Even if that could be guaranteed," He retorted hotly, "Surely my place is still here defending the subjects of your realm, not overseeing a construction site for the Druids!"

"May I remind you Brother, that I am your King," seethed Aurelius, "And my command is sacrosanct!"

Uther stared dolefully at the older man for a few moments, taking in the determined look in his Brother's eyes with apprehension, "And there is no other man that can go in my stead?"

Aurelius shook his head firmly, "I require a Royal emissary."

"For what purpose?" asked Uther in confusion.

The King paused; obviously weighing his words carefully, "The obelisks required for the northern part of the structure have been specifically selected by Abraith… and can only be sourced in the Kingdom of Éire."

"_É__ire?_" exclaimed Uther in shock, "You wish me to leave the land we have only just recovered?"

"As you know, our relations with King Dubhán are weak at best," continued Aurelius, ignoring his Brother's objections, "You must travel to the foothills of Mount Killaraus and negotiate the excavation and transportation of the stones in my name."

"Sire, surely you can see my place is here - as leader of the armies of Albion? Of this _Camelot_ that you are creating?"

"Your place is wherever I command it!" spat the King, his gloved hand gripping the front of Uther's tunic in anger, before pushing him away in disgust, "You will leave by the next full moon, is that understood?"

"Yes Sire," confirmed the Prince in dismay, his plans of working and training with his Knights vanishing before his eyes.

The King searched his Brother's face for a moment, before nodding in satisfaction that he was indeed subjecting himself to his command and turned abruptly on his heel to exit the gatehouse.

"It seems I shall never meet my bride!" Uther called after him jovially, attempting to lighten the mood and placate his Brother's unpredictable shift in emotions, "Ygraine is still not returned from the safety of the northern borders."

Aurelius regarded his brother coolly, before sensing the good-humour of his words and breaking into a genial smile of his own, "So this is your real concern!" he cried affably, "That you will still be denied the soft touch of your sweetheart? Do not fear little Brother; her warm bosom will be waiting for you on your return."

Uther watched the King's chuckling form retreating down the passageway, before returning slowly to the vantage point of his window. There was no trace of mirth on his features now as he watched the work still progressing down below. Again and again his eye fell to the unfinished walls and the weakness in their defences. He sighed deeply to himself despondently… If only _he_ were King…

* * *

**A/N – I grew up not far from the Salisbury plains so yes I do know that Stonehenge was built around 2400 BC (roughly 3000yrs before Uther was around) so you can blame ****Geoffrey of Monmouth for that little historical faux pas. I am merely expounding that part of the legend that he created… and bending it slightly to tie in with 'Merlin'. If you've never heard of Stonehenge then Google it, there's a website and everything ;)**


	6. Standing Stones

_**6. Standing Stones**_

The low drone of honey bees and the sound of birds merrily singing to one another from the tree-tops mingled harmoniously in Uther's ears as he breathed in the heady scent of the hot summer afternoon. The feel of the soft grass tickled at the back of his neck as the intense light from the sun burned through his closed eyelids and down into the depths of his consciousness, forcing him to shift slightly and drape his left arm over his face for shade.

This sudden movement stirred the slumbering creature lying at his side and a pale, delicate hand snaked its way across his chest to rest lazily upon his cheek, gently stroking the fine stubble of his jaw. Uther smiled contentedly beneath her touch, lifting his own hand to his chest to softly stroke the arm that rested upon it.

After the years of battles and fighting for his Brother to regain control of the throne in the Pendragon name, Uther had not thought it possible to feel such peace as he felt now. To feel such depth of love for a woman that the whole world swam out of focus in her presence. Food, thought, a sense of reason and all the responsibilities of his station flew out of the window at the mere mention of her name and here he was, lying on a remote hillside with that very woman; nothing to disturb their quiet interlude but the pleasant sounds of nature that serenaded them both.

The woman beside him now lifted herself onto her elbow and peered down at him, patting his cheek gently to gain his attention. Uther raised his arm and used his hand to shield his eyes from the sun, parting his eye just a crack and squinting up into the glorious sunshine.

"My love, we must soon be back at the Castle or we shall be missed," his companion whispered, smiling at the look of woe that crossed his face.

Uther closed his eyes again and let out a long sigh of frustration, "Surely the sun has not yet passed midday?" he grumbled into the crook of his arm.

Gentle hands eased his arm away from his face and urged him to sit up, cool fingers stroking the frown lines away from his hot skin.

He looked at her, drinking in her beauty; her long raven hair spilling down over her shoulders; intense pure green eyes the colour of sea ice gazing back at him. Reaching forward, he wrapped his fingers softly around her neck and drew her in towards him, breathing in her scent as their lips came together, a slow and ardent passion that stirred up the heat in their souls. With a small sigh he parted from her at last and let his forehead rest against hers, his right hand tenderly stroking the long velvety locks of her hair.

Tearing his eyes from the glassy depths of his lover's irises, he looked despondently at the sun, quickly calculating its position and the approximate time of day and assessing that the morning was indeed well along and that they must soon be on their way or face the scrutiny of the court of Dubhán.

"You are right of course, we must depart at once," he murmured, making no move himself to actually get up.

"You would not want to be late for your audience with my Father the King," she urged, tugging gently at his arm.

Uther ran his hands through his hair and, turning from her slightly, he rested his arms on his knees, hunching himself forward, his shoulders rounded and defensive. Plucking a blade of grass he played it between his fingers, shredding it to pieces as his eyes scanned the horizon in brooding silence.

From their vantage point on the heights of Lugnaquilla he could easily survey the hive of activity currently underway at the base of Mount Killaraus. Thirty huge slabs of naturally formed standing stones had been excavated and transported to the coast over the last few months and now just ten of the colossal rocks stood majestically outlined against the backdrop of the mountain.

"You are troubled?" Uther's companion questioned, draping her arms supportively around his shoulders and teasing her own fingers through his hair.

Uther shook his head slowly, "Simply remembering the enormity of the task ahead."

"It would not be a challenge if the task were not great," she smiled, "these stones were said to have been brought to these lands by Giants from the heart of the African continent for their healing properties. Your Druid friend has chosen his materials wisely."

"And you believe those tales of Giants?"

"I believe in the impossible," she replied simply, "yes."

"The impossible… that sums up the remainder of my mission."

"Now you are being cynical Uther – you must have confidence in your abilities."

Uther let out a great sigh and rubbed wearily at his eyes, "My abilities?" he scoffed derisively, "15,000 men I brought with me from Albion and it has taken more and more of them to shift each of these stones and sail them back over the sea. Now only a few over 3000 remain, not nearly enough to heave those last monstrous lumps of stone safely to the shore and still fewer to ensure their safe passage across the sea," Uther threw his arms up angrily to gesture at the hopelessness of his situation, "And now I have reports that my Brother suffers attacks from Saxon's daily and may be in grave danger and I am stuck on a fools mission thousands of miles from home!"

The raven haired woman stilled her fingers and sat silently by the Prince's side, her hands folded neatly in her lap and her gaze also falling to the quarry work being done below them, "My Father has offered as many men as you need to aid in your mission," she said quietly, "the alliance you offer is more than beneficial to him to meet your needs without worry."

Uther turned suddenly toward her and clasped her face in both of his hands, his eyes searching hers fervently, "Lonán you know my worries are not really for those damned stones, I just… I know I must soon return to help Aurelius but…" his words trailed off and he sat back in dejection, shaking his head at the words he had left unsaid.

"I would not wish you gone either," Lonán said, voicing the words he could not, "but we both knew this day would come, your hand is not mine to take – it belongs to Ygraine de Bois."

"A woman I have met once and care nothing for," he snapped in frustration.

"Come," the woman instructed suddenly, rising to her feet and walking lightly down the mountain slope, the long folds of her dress billowing out behind her in the breeze.

Throwing down the confetti of grass he had been toying with, Uther jogged quickly to her side, matching her stride as they made their way across the grass to the sheep trail that led all the way to the foot of the valley below.

As she picked her way nimbly among the loose rocks, Lonán hummed softly to herself, running her hands lightly over the wild flowers that sprang up all over the mountain side.

"How do you remain so carefree?" grumbled Uther, throwing a sideways glance at her as they walked.

"How can you remain so morose?" she threw back, laughing at the look that passed across his face, "You must live as the animals," she counselled, "each day as it comes."

Extending her left hand, Lonán threw a small handful of petals up in the air. As the wind began to take them her eyes took on a brief golden hue and all at once the fragments began to develop a life of their own, spinning and swirling around until the shape of a small bird emerged. The fragile creature seemed to flutter there for a few seconds before scattering into the wind in a blustering explosion of colour.

Uther's eyes softened as he watched Lonán's playful nature, "It's hard to remain so optimistic when I see our time together disappearing on that very breeze," he said, pointing at the few petals that still curled around them.

"You see only problems Uther Pendragon," she chided, throwing her arms wide and spinning around merrily, "perhaps my Father wishes to inform you today that you may have my hand in marriage and we shall live out our days in giddy bliss for all eternity!"

Uther laughed despite himself and caught her to him, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist, "And how can that be?" he demanded, "When he knows nothing of our love?"

Lonán settled her arms around his shoulders and nestled her head into the crook of his neck, "Very well Uther," she said into his ear with an exaggerated sigh, "You have beaten me with your voracious pessimism… perhaps I should simply give in to the fates and throw my doomed body from the heights of this mountain."

"Then I would simply ride to the shores of Avalon and demand your soul back from the Gods," retorted Uther with a grin, "Besides, what's the point of my delaying in the land of Éire if you are not here to entertain me with your magical petal birds?"

"Is that all you think my magic is good for?" she asked, feigning offence, "I'll have you know I would lift those very rocks that cause you such stress across the sea myself if it did not mean that you would be leaving here all the sooner because of it!"

Uther stepped back, holding Lonán by the shoulders away from him so that he could better read her expression, "You have the ability to lift those stones? Is your magic truly so immense?"

"Do you wish it to be so?" she asked, a hint of sadness in her eyes, "Do you desire to be rid of this land so hastily?"

"I wish it all," he said earnestly, his blue eyes boring into hers, "I wish to give Alwyn the monument he deserves and unite the crown and the Druid people, I wish to be in Albion now to deliver vengeance to the Saxon scum that continue to ravage the land… and I wish to have you by my side through all these trials."

"But your Brother would-"

"My Brother well knows the result of a loveless marriage; he is party to one himself."

"And what of my Father?" argued Lonán, "He has his own plans for my betrothal."

"Your Father has been falling over himself to unite his Kingdom with Albion," replied the Prince with confidence, "He would see the sense of the match in time."

"You do not know my Father…"

"And what would he do?" Uther demanded, "He could not declare war on Albion, his forces are decimated as it is from his civil war with the Northern lands."

"You are too brash my Lord," she retorted, "War he may not declare but you are in _his_ land now – do you think that he would merrily bid you farewell with me by your side? You would not see the blade that eviscerates you for its speed."

"Then we leave by the cover of night and do not look back."

"You are serious?" she asked incredulously.

"Unless you were not… I ask again - can you lift those stones?" Uther asked bluntly.

Lonán turned once more to the looming forms of the ten standing stones, sizing up their weight and height with a critical eye. Pulling back her shoulders she levelled Uther with a look of pure determination, her heart set, "I can," she said assuredly, "If you are sure that this is what you want?"

"I will have my men on the boats by night fall," he replied without hesitation.

The raven haired woman nodded slowly, the magnitude and finality of their plans sinking in, "What if we are discovered?" she whispered quietly, the breeze picking up her words and throwing them into the wind.

"We shall live each day as it comes," the Prince replied with a smile, smoothing out the worry that lined her brow with his thumb, "Do not fret – nothing can stand in our way."

Lornán rested her head against her lover's chest… her eyes betraying the doubt that crept into the recesses of her heart.


	7. Preseli Hills

_**7. **__**Preseli Hills**_

With a grinding crunch the bow of the longboat met the loose shingle of the shore and strong arms heaved the wooden vessel securely across the stones. Uther moved up from the stern of the little boat and leapt nimbly into the cold spray of the sea, striding quickly up the beach toward the man that approached, throwing his arms wide in greeting.

"Gorlois!" he cried warmly, grasping the man's right arm in his own and throwing his other arm around his shoulders, "It has been many months old friend."

"And yet you have reached us far sooner than we ever expected my Prince," replied Gorlois, his thick brown hair buffeted by the sea air.

"There is much yet to accomplish," said Uther, brushing aside his comments with one sweep of his arm, "Tell me, how goes my Brother's battle with the Saxons?"

"There is still no clear advantage to be held over them and his defences are being weakened every day," Gorlois reported sombrely, "I will not lie to you Uther, it does not look good."

"Then we have returned not a moment too soon, we will drive the Saxon parasite from Albion and these rocks will stand monument to our strength and unite the Druids to us," insisted the Prince heatedly, "How does your venture fair? Are the stones secured?"

"Aye," confirmed the young Knight, "All eighty Bluestone rocks that we have taken from these Preseli Hills are on their way to the Salisbury plains as we speak, along with the twenty Sarsen rocks we have had delivered to us thus far. All that remains are these last ten and the Giant's Ring shall be complete and the Henge made whole."

Uther slapped Gorlois squarely on the shoulder, "That is excellent news indeed," he said, "We must ride at once to…" The Prince's words died off as he saw Gorlois's eyes stray toward the flagship of their voyage that was anchored in the bay. Turning to see what had thus caught his attention, he saw Lonán standing at the bow of the ship, her raven black hair whipping out behind her in the strong winds, a heavy woollen cloak pulled protectively around her. As the men struggled to lower the colossal standing stone behind her onto the sturdy raft below, she was helped into a waiting longboat and she settled herself at the prow, her eyes never leaving the coast to which they were headed, as it too was lowered into the water.

"So," said Gorlois softly, "The rumours are true, you have brought yourself a bride from Éire."

Uther's confident smile faltered as he saw the judgement in his friends eyes and a dark look of defiance hung upon his features instead as he turned back towards the younger Knight, "It seems the men I sent ahead of me have loose tongues," he said bitterly.

"I would not have believed it could I not see her with my own eyes…" he replied candidly, "so your betrothal to Ygraine is ended?"

"Lonán and I are not yet wedded in the eyes of God," the Prince informed him, his voice dangerously low.

"And her Father would let her travel alone?" asked Gorlois in surprise. Uther said nothing, his face turned rigidly to the sea, his expression unreadable. "Wait…" the Knight continued as realisation struck, "Dubhán knows nothing of this does he? You have absconded together!"

"She does not travel alone," Uther replied, ignoring his friend's latter statement, "Her handmaid Brianna accompanies her."

"Do not trifle with me Uther," cried Gorlois impatiently, "Has her Father approved of this or have you kidnapped his only daughter without a band of marriage and an arranged bride price?"

"You really need me to answer you?" spat Uther angrily, "You know well enough that he is ignorant of all this."

Gorlois regarded the young Prince thoughtfully for a moment, "Have you lain with her?" he asked finally.

At once Uther surged forward, grasping the Knight by his tunic, pushing him back across the shingle in rage, "How dare you ask me such a question, you step too far Gorlois!"

Gorlois shoved the Prince roughly away from him, straightening his tunic in annoyance, "We have known each other since we were mere boys Uther," he said firmly, "Do not stand there so indignant and blush as if you were a maiden for me to offend your honour!" Uther stared at him dolefully, the anger quickly dissipating from his eyes, "I ask you again _my Lord_… have you lain with her?"

"I have," he mumbled quietly, his eyes downcast.

"Then you _are _wed in the eyes of God," replied Gorlois after a moments silence, "For she can no longer belong to her Father if you have taken her maidenhead."

"I do have _some_ honour man!" cried Uther, the fire blazing in his eyes once more, "I intend to marry her properly as soon as we reach Camelot and gain my Brother's blessing."

"You think that your Brother will support this?"

"He must," the Prince replied simply, watching Lonán once again as her vessel slowly approached the shore. Now that the longboat had drawn closer he could see how pale her skin looked, her eyes sunken and hollow, her cheekbones sharply defined in the grey light of the English summer afternoon.

Looking past the approaching longboat, Gorlois stared thoughtfully at the fleet of ships anchored before them, each one bearing the weight of a heavy Sarsen rock. A puzzled expression passed across his features as he swiftly calculated the weight and manpower needed for each one of these heavy stones and the time that it should have taken to load them onto the ships.

"Tell me Uther," he asked with genuine interest, "just how is it you managed to load these last stones so quickly? By my calculations you are a few _months_ ahead of schedule!"

"Lonán," he said simply, as if merely stating her name were enough to answer his question, "She posses such _power_ Gorlois, unlike anything else in all of Éire; it was something truly wondrous… to see these giant monuments of the Earth lifted into the sky as though they were made of wool…" Uther's eyes darkened slightly and a heavy look of anxiety passed across his face, "But I fear the effort has exhausted her," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

"Her strength has not returned?" Gorlois asked in surprise, "Your journey must have taken many days; I wonder that she is not revived by now?"

Uther said nothing, the silence stretching out between them oppressively; the young Knight's eyes searching the Prince's for a sign of what may be troubling him.

"There are… complications," Uther said at last, his eyes fixed firmly on the progress of Lonán's boat.

"What is it?" he asked. Still Uther could not bring himself to explain and again the silence grew louder than the crash of the waves on the rocks around them. "Uther, as foolish as I believe your actions to have been, you well know that I have long ago sworn my loyalty to you… please… what is troubling you?"

The young Prince turned at last to face his childhood friend, his eyes glistening as he struggled to keep his emotions in check, "She is… with child," he managed at last, his voice catching as he spoke.

Gorlois's mouth formed a silent 'Oh' and his eyebrows rose high on his forehead as he digested this information.

"Lonán used her power to shift all ten of these last stones from the foot of Mount Killaraus to the waiting ships before she was aware of her condition… now she is greatly weakened and…" Uther grapsed his arm in worry, "Gorlois she fears for the childs life."

Gorlois looked at his Prince earnestly, then at the approaching figure of Lonán, supported heavily he noted by her handmaid Brianna, "Come old friend," he said gently, placing his arm supportively around Uther's neck, "It is a long journey to Camelot, let us see what fates await us when we get there…"

* * *

_**A/N - Well it looks like I've scared most of my reviewers away LOL... so here is a special shiny thank you to Mnemosyne77, Pink Koala and Foxie Roxie for being my absolute rocks when it comes to reviews and great feedback. You guys are awesome!**_


	8. Ultimatum

_**8. Ultimatum**_

"You dare to come before your King and ask such a thing of me?"

Uther stood rigidly before Aurelius in his private bedchambers, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he fought to keep his anger in check and address the King with respect; "Is it such a grand request, Brother? To be granted the freedom to love and choose ones own marriage mate?"

"You are no simple clotpole Uther, free to follow the whims of your over-driven manhood; you are a _Pendragon_; Crown Prince of Albion, second in line to the throne, how can you have forgotten your responsibilities so easily? Does she enchant you so completely?"

"My mind is still my own Aurelius!" retorted the Prince hotly, "And she is not some peasant girl of no breeding, she is a Princess in her own right! Why is this match so impossible to you?"

"I don't care a jot _who_ the blessed woman is!" spat the King, lurching forward in his chair in rage. His face was gaunt and pale compared to the last time Uther had laid eyes on him. His once crystal green eyes were dull and his skin sallow. The thick mop of black hair that had graced his head was now greying and had receded considerably in the few short months his brother had been away. The war seemed to have taken a great toll on the King but still the fire and passion that Uther knew well burned now behind his sunken eyes.

"I would have thought that you of all people would understand," seethed Uther, leaning on his knuckles over the table that separated them, "You yourself must well know the despair of an empty marriage and a cold bed…"

"You miserable _dog!" _cried Aurelius, knocking his chair over backwards in his haste as he leapt to his feet in anger. No sooner had he stood than a bout of hacking coughs wracked his palsied frame and he was forced to rest heavily against the table for support. His anger forgotten, Uther rushed forward in concern, helping his Brother over to the bed and easing him down onto the covers gently. As he lay back against the pillows his coughing eased and Aurelius waved Uther away impatiently, struggling to make himself comfortable.

"How long?" asked the Prince quietly.

"How long what?" retorted the King gruffly, looking up at his Brother through hooded eyes, blood red and watering from the effort of regaining control of his breathing.

"How long have you been this ill?"

"Three or four months… Gaius does not know what ails me," he added, closing his eyes briefly in exhaustion. As Uther stood watching the prone form of his older Brother he was reminded of his Father lying in this same bed six years ago. So much had happened since then and now the younger man was given a stark reminder of how much had changed. The responsibilities of the crown that had seemed so distant and irrelevant to him as third in line to the throne now came crashing in on him as he realised what would be expected of him should anything happen to Aurelius…

"Is there nothing to be done?" he asked tersely.

"I believe the leaches have had their fill," Aurelius replied bitterly, shaking his head slowly in resignation, "My fate rests in the hands of the Gods now… which is why you must see that you cannot marry Lonán of Éire, the council would never approve and the country would be torn apart by the threat of war."

"Her Father would never go as far as war, surely!" protested Uther, "His men would be no match for all of Albion and its Knights!"

"Do not underestimate the anger of a Father, where his children are concerned," counselled the King, "Your duty as Crown Prince must come before the lust of your groin and the folly of your heart."

"Aurelius please-"

"There is nothing more to be said Brother, I must put the good of the country first. You will wed Ygraine as Father wished and Lonán must return to Éire."

"I cannot consent to that… she carries my Son inside her belly Aurelius, I will not reject her now!"

"Son or Daughter, that child will live and die a bastard and will not be recognised by this court!" barked the King suddenly, his gaunt face reddening in anger, "Hear me now Uther, you will do as I command or be officially disinherited!"

Uther stared aghast at his Brother, his mouth hanging open in shock that he would lay down such a proclamation. "Is there nothing I can say to convince you of my feelings for Lonán?" he asked quietly.

"Have you still not learned that your feelings are immaterial?" exclaimed Aurelius impatiently, "You are Crown Prince, your actions are dictated by the state and by your duty to the people… it is time you grew up and accepted your responsibilities."

The King's words sank slowly into Uther's heart, a cold feeling spreading out over his chest as he realised the futility of his argument, "Brother…" He began cautiously, choosing his words carefully, "Lonán's Father is an unforgiving man… if she is returned to Éire he may not accept her back at all."

"That is neither your concern nor mine," replied the King bluntly.

Uther wet his lips uncertainly, conscious that he was running out of options and desperate now to buy them some more time, "I see you leave me no choice," he began, his voice flat and disconsolate, "I simply ask that Lonán be allowed to remain here until our child is born, she is in no condition to travel in her present condition and marauder bands circle the land daily, it is not safe."

The King regarded Uther coolly from the bed, weighing up his request carefully, "But you concede that you cannot be wed?"

Pulling back his shoulders and drawing in a deep breath, Uther nodded his consent, "Ay Brother, I do."

"And you will submit to your betrothal to Ygraine?"

"Ay," he nodded again.

"Very well then," agreed Aurelius with a sigh, sinking back into the downy pillows with obvious relief, "Lonán may remain at Camelot to whelp her child and then they shall both be escorted back to Éire."

A heavy weight rested oppressively on Uther's chest as he bowed low to his Brother and made his exit from his chambers. It was a weight that wrapped its fingers carefully around the sinews of the young Prince's heart and slowly squeezed… until it seemed that only ash pumped darkly through his veins.


	9. Love Lies Bleeding

_**9. Love Lies Bleeding**_

The cool morning air breezed through Lonán's long raven hair as she looked out over Camelot and its surrounding villages. The square Keep that housed the Royal chambers was newly finished and from her vantage point high up on its battlements, the view was spectacular. The rolling hills spread out before her, right down to Darkling woods and she could even make out the ant-like movements of peasants and village folk going about their lives in the dwellings and the marketplaces. The new stone felt cold and smooth beneath her hands and there was the fresh scent of spring hanging on the wind.

As her eyes drank in the pleasant ambience of the castle and its proud land, Lonán began to hum softly to herself, her fingers delicately tracing concentric circles around the large swelling of her belly and an amber light trailed lazily in their wake. She spread her hands wide across the taught flesh of her pregnant stomach and smiled as she felt the child kick back against her palms, relishing the peaceful solitude of the moment and the growing link between Mother and baby.

In the courtyard below, the discord of clashing metal rose to meet her keen ears and Lonán peered carefully over the edge of the ramparts. A raucous training session was underway with Uther at its head, leading the men in their practice thrusts and parries with obvious relish.

The delicate tune that Lonán had been humming faded and died upon her lips as she watched her would-be lover laughing jovially with his men. A sharp pang of jealousy rose like bile in her throat and it was all she could do not to cry out in despair. His promises to her had seemed so full of zeal in the beginning; firstly his assurance that he would plead with the King and beg the council to reconsider their decisions, then that he would stand by her no matter what the outcome… and lastly that he would love her and their child until his dying breath. It seemed that every word had turned to rot as soon it had been spoken. As the weeks had slipped past, the distance he had put up between them seemed to swell on a daily basis.

Uther's heart had hardened itself toward her, of that she was sure… now there was just the waiting. Waiting for her child to be born, waiting for the limbo in which she now found herself to finally be over… waiting for Uther to officially reject her…

Sinking to her knees, Lonán allowed herself to weep for everything she had lost, silent sobs that burned like acid in her throat. If she closed her eyes she could feel the pressure of the pain the future held pushing against her eyeballs… oh, she could see so many things. The tumultuous mixture of agony and unbridled joy in the birth of her child, the dark look that would pass across its Father's face and the chilling cold of the night into which they would both be cast. She could see it all… and the grief she felt for the poor prospects of her child cut like a knife in her heart.

A plaintive cry slipped uncontrollably from her lips as a sharp pain stabbed in her belly. Clutching her side in agony, Lonán gently began rubbing her stomach soothingly; taking up the steady rhythm of the tune she had been humming earlier. The magical orange glow that emanated from her fingertips transferred to the taught skin of her belly and slowly the anxious child within began to calm.

With a deep breath, Lonán wiped the fallen tears from her cheeks and carefully pulled herself to up onto her feet, clutching at the battlements for support. Her ice green eyes were steeled with determination, one hand held protectively to her distended belly. No matter what her future held, she would ensure her child was safe and loved and cared for. She may have been abandoned but the life she nurtured inside her would not be, she would see to that.

The Princess turned from the walls of the parapet. The sound of clashing metal and the shouts of the men faded at once from her ears as she began to descend the winding steps of the tower, her own melodic voice filling the darkened stairwell as she went, rising up resonantly into the ether and joining in perfect harmony with the songs of the birds that flew across the April skies above…


	10. Births

_**10. Births…**_

Gaius held his ear to the long, thin-stemmed ear-trumpet that he had pressed to Lonán's stomach and listened carefully to the noises of the restless child within. The sound of a quick, fluttering heartbeat travelled down the resonant tube and the greying physician slowly straightened his back, replaced the instrument on his work bench and approached the foot of the bed, examining his patient carefully.

"I believe the child is in some distress," he said in a low voice, indicating to his assistant, Hunith, to bring the towels that she was holding over to him. "You must slow your breathing, or you will excite the child too much," he continued, addressing the fretful mother-to-be as he peered at her from between her raised legs. "And I am _not_ happy that you would not allow me to inform the Father of your condition."

"Uther has disowned the child," spat Lonán bitterly, "It is no business of his."

Brianna clutched Lonán's hand tightly, applying a soothing compress to her forehead as she breathed along with her mistress, trying desperately to calm the agitated woman, "The báibín will be fine without him," she clucked disapprovingly, "You're boy will know great love mistress."

"Girl," corrected Lonán, stroking her bloated belly lovingly, "It is a girl… I can feel it."

"We shall soon see," interjected Gaius, "Hunith, bring some more Clary Sage and set it burning by her side," He instructed, not taking his eyes from the crowning child before him, "And also fetch some mint leaves for her to chew, it may sooth the pain somewhat."

"Yes Brother," Hunith replied as she quietly busied herself with these tasks.

"You are… siblings?" panted Lonán through ragged breaths, her face red and perspiring from the efforts of childbirth.

"Half siblings," replied the younger woman as she set the Clary Sage down beside her and reached for a taper to light the wick. "Our Father remarried much later in life after-"

"Thank you, Hunith," interrupted Gaius, fixing his sister with an impatient stare, one eyebrow raised in irritation,"If you have quite finished, we have a baby to deliver!"

Hunith smiled tolerantly at her older brother and quietly reached for some mint, pushing a few leaves between the young princess's lips for her to chew.

"One final push my dear," Gaius commanded as Hunith readied herself by his side.

Gripping Brianna's hand tightly for support, Lonán drew in a deep breath and pushed with all her strength, willing the child out of her. Inch by inch she felt it move inside of her until finally, just as the last vestiges of her strength were sapped, she felt the release of her baby sliding free into Gaius' waiting hands.

A sudden silence filled the room as there was no tell-tale sound of the newborn letting out its first cries and Lonán lifted her head with much effort in an attempt to see what was wrong.

"It's born in the Caul," said Gaius, quickly breaking the thin membrane and clearing the child's passageways of any excess mucus. The ashen colour of its skin soon turned a healthy shade of pink as the first shrill cries emanated from its tiny mouth. A collective sigh of relief filled the room and Lonán's head dropped back gratefully onto the pillows.

Freshly cleaned and wrapped in soft white linen, Hunith gently placed the newborn in its mother's arms, an exultant look of rapture passing over Lonán's eyes as she gazed down at her child for the first time.

"You were right," Hunith said quietly, smiling down kindly at them both, "It is a girl… you have daughter."

Lonán pressed the baby's tiny fingers to her lips, laughing through her tears as the little infant struggled to open its eyes; huge deep navy-blue orbs that looked up solemnly at her mother.

"Born in the Caul," she laughed, her eyes dancing in delight, "It is a sign is it not?"

Brianna joined in the infectious laughter, nodding happily along with her mistress, "A great sign my Lady," she agreed.

"I can _feel_ the magic within her," Lonán breathed in wonder, "She is so strong!"

"Now," interrupted Gaius, approaching the bed once more,"I really must send word to the Prince, it is my duty to-"

"_No!_" cried Lonán forcefully, stopping Gaius in his tracks, "You don't understand…"

"Uther must be informed that he is a Father!" the physician protested.

Lonán's eyes fell once more to her daughter lying fitfully in her arms, the love she felt shining out of her very face. Taking a long, shaky breath, the young princess regarded the older man with steely determination. "Uther has renounced his responsibility for this child am I right?"

"Well, yes but-"

"And am I also right in saying that there are rumours that the King wishes my child dead, for fear she one day return and claim the throne for herself?"

Gaius stared at her dumbly. There had indeed been whispers that the King had made such a statement… but there was no truth in it, he was sure, "Such reports have no foundation to them my Lady, you can rest assured that-"

"Gaius please, I beg you," Lonán cut in wearily, "I cannot afford to take such chances - you must hear me out."

Gaius looked at her for a moment, torn between his duty to the crown and his duty to protect his patient. "What are your intentions?" he asked at last, apprehension weighting his words heavily.

"My best outcome then, is that once I am fit to travel I am to be escorted back to my Father in Éire…" Lonán continued, gently stroking her daughter's cheek lovingly as she spoke, "Even in this instance I cannot protect my child, for He will just as likely execute me_ and_ my baby as he would welcome me back."

"Then what is it you plan?" repeated Gaius in frustration.

Lonán slowly drew her gaze from her infant, her eyes brimming over with tears but full also of a passionate resolve, "You must take my daughter far away from here… it is the only way to protect her."

This revelation hung palpably in the air as the princess's desperate plea sank in. Stepping quietly toward the bed, Hunith looked tentatively around the room, "I know a place," she said, her own voice full of emotion as she saw the impossible decision that Lonán was faced with, "There is an Island that serves as home to a community of priestesses called the Isle of the Blessed. I know the high priestess; she is very kind, they will take good care of her."

"How can I get her there?" asked Lonán eagerly.

"I was returning to our family homestead in Ealdor in a few days anyway," she replied without hesitation, "I am more than willing to bring forward the trip and carry your child there on my way."

"Hunith, you cannot be serious!" exclaimed Gaius in shock.

The younger woman looked coolly at her older brother, "Perfectly serious Gaius," she confirmed simply.

"But how would we conceal this from the prince?" the physician objected, "he may well insist she be tracked down!"

"And that is the very reason that we are going to tell him that she died," retorted Lonán bluntly.

Gaius stared at her open mouthed, unable to quantify the words she had just uttered, "Lie to a member of the royal family?" he spluttered disbelievingly.

"It is no lie Gaius," said Lonán forcefully, "My daughter _is_ as good as dead as far as Uther is concerned, for he shall never lay eyes on her… ever!"

Gaius looked wide eyed at each of the women in the room, each time met with hard, decisive looks. Finally his eyes rested on the child and with a deep sigh he knew that there was no other option if her life was to be secure, "Very well," he said at last, running both hands through his hair, "there will not be much time, Lonán – you must try and feed at once, if the girl is to be taken from you she will need as much of mother's milk as she can get now."

"Will that be enough?" asked Lonán anxiously as her baby began to hesitantly suckle.

"I will arrange for a wet nurse from the village to accompany Hunith," he replied briskly, hurrying to collect provisions for his sister's journey, "She need not know whose child the baby is."

Brianna's eyes met with Lonán's and she carefully studied her expression, taking in the anxious look of worry that creased her features, "Are you sure you are able to do this? To give up the child?" she asked in a low voice.

"I have been readying myself for this moment for three months," the princess replied, her voice thick with emotion, "and still I am not prepared… but I must Brianna, there is no other way."

Brianna quietly placed her arm around her mistress, stoking her hair in comfort as fresh tears slid down the younger woman's face.

As the newborn finished taking milk, slowly falling asleep in exhaustion from the ordeals of birth, Hunith took a large blanket and carefully wrapped it around the sleeping baby.

"It is time," said Gaius gently, his grey eyes full of pity as he stepped toward the bed.

Lifting the child up, Lonán pressed her lips to her daughter's cheek, choking back her tears as she passed her into Hunith's waiting arms.

Placing a small bundle of her belongings and provisions on her shoulder, Gaius quickly ushered his sister toward the door of his chambers, checking the quiet halls for anyone that may observe her departure.

"A name," said Hunith suddenly as she approached the door, "what will you name her?"

"I will name her for my mother," she replied without hesitation, her voice breaking as she spoke. With a deep breath she calmed herself, smiling softly through her tears, "I shall name her Morgause."

Hunith nodded briefly, repeating the name quietly under her breath… and then she disappeared into the cold passageway that would lead her and the baby down into the heart of the village and then away, away from the warm arms of a loving mother… and into the unknown…

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_**A/N - So… did **_**anyone **_**see the Morgause story-line coming? :D And in case it's of interest to anyone, being born "in the Caul" (amniotic sac) was seen as a sign of good luck in medieval times. Some legends suggest the child will be fey or psychic and able to see the future. Others say that it means the child will never drown. Just a little insight into the crazy level of research I put into each chapter… detail is my kryptonite… **_


	11. Deaths

_**A/N - This chapter is for Mnemosyne77... get well soon m'dear...**_

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_**11. Deaths…**_

Uther walked briskly down the dim corridor, an impatient stride to his step. Already he wished to be away from the castle and patrolling the surrounding land for weaknesses to their defences - but first he needed a word with Gaius and the court physician never seemed to be around when he was needed most.

As the prince descended the final steps that led to Gaius's chambers, he spotted the physician bearing an armful of fresh linen, walking back from the direction of the laundry.

"Gaius!" He called, waving the older man down as he broke into a quick jog to meet with him. "It seems you are an apparition of late, I have been searching for you for what seems like an age."

"My humblest apologies sire," replied Gaius archly, visibly bridling at this remark, "My duties do keep me exceedingly busy."

"Can't you get that sister of yours to fetch and carry for you?" Uther queried, gesturing to the pile of bedding.

"Hunith… was unexpectedly called home earlier than anticipated," Gaius informed him hastily.

"Of course, of course," said Uther dismissively, waving away his words in annoyance.

"As it happens I am glad I found you my Lord," Gaius continued, his expression taking on a guarded look, "I was in fact just coming to search you down…"

"You have news of a cure?"

"A cure Sire?" asked Gaius quizzically, confusion marring his brow.

"My brother… you have found a cure to his illness?" Uther explained impatiently, "Was this not what you wanted to discuss?"

"Regrettably… no my Lord…" Gaius paused for a second, unsure of how he should word what had to be said, "– I am sorry my prince but I have bad news… your child… that is to say _Lonán's_ child… the baby… did not survive Sire."

A confusion of emotions flashed across Uther's face as this news sank in; first surprise and disbelief, followed closely by anger, then sorrow until finally the prince slowly sank back against the wall, his face blank and his eyes staring unseeing into the distance.

As the minutes stretched, Gaius reached out a tentative hand and placed it upon Uther's shoulder, gently shaking the prince and drawing him back from his thoughts. The younger man visibly shook himself, reining his emotions in and regaining control of his sensibilities as he straightened up and looked Gaius in the eye.

"When?" He questioned simply.

"This morning my Lord - you will forgive me, there was no time to inform you sooner."

"A boy?" he asked, the words wavering slightly with apprehension.

"No… a girl."

A flicker of relief crossed the prince's eyes. "What of the Mother?" he enquired, his voice betraying no hint of the emotion he had just displayed.

"She is recovering well, all things considered," the physician reassured him, "She is resting in my chambers."

"I would speak with her," said Uther decisively, already moving toward the wooden door in front of him.

"Of course my Lord," replied Gaius, hurriedly reaching for the large iron handle, "If you will just allow me to ensure she is fit for visitors…"

Uther nodded wordlessly and the older man disappeared behind the door, reappearing moments later and ushering the prince inside. As he approached the bed he took in the frail and haggard appearance of the woman whose very life force had once dazzled him completely. Her eyes no longer danced, her jet black hair hung limply around her shoulders and his heart lurched involuntarily when he noted the remaining swelling of her belly that had once housed their child.

Lonán's eyes fluttered open and she levelled her former lover with a cold and judging stare. Uther's purposeful stride faltered under the scrutiny of her gaze and he slowly stepped toward her bedside.

"Lonán I…I am sorry for your loss," he mumbled hesitantly.

"Only _my_ loss, Uther?" she asked; her voice weak but still conveying the bitterness she felt within.

Uther looked down at the floor, hands clasped tightly behind his back, "Gaius tells me that you are recovering well from the ordeal?" he continued, battling through her barbed comments.

"As well as can be expected my Lord."

The prince nodded slowly as if pondering these words deeply, fiddling with the blanket at the foot of the bed as he did so. Clearing his throat loudly in the too-quiet room, he walked over to the small window, his back now to Lonán.

"I am sure you are anxious to be returning to your homeland," he began at last, clasping his hands rigidly behind his back, "Gorlois has agreed to accompany you and your maid to ensure your safe passage."

Lonán's mouth dropped open as she gaped wordlessly at Uther's back, unable to comprehend how cold he was acting and finding herself incapable of equating this man to the one who had promised her the world not too long ago.

"I'm sorry Uther…" she whispered quietly, her words thick with emotion and bitterest gall, "I never meant to be such a burden to you." Still the prince would not turn to face her, one gloved hand tapping listlessly against the other as he kept his gaze firmly fixed out of the window. "Did you…_ever_, truly care for me?" she asked tentatively.

Uther spun round, his eyes full of guilt and unspoken feeling. Taking a step forward he opened his mouth as if to speak, a few half formed words hovering on his lips before a dark look of resolve crossed his face.

Leaving Lonán's question hanging in the air, he walked briskly around the bed and toward the exit, pausing only when he had virtually reached the door, "I think it best that you journey as soon as you are fit… these summer months are best for the sea crossing."

With that he turned and exited the room gesturing with one hand for Gaius to accompany him. The older man followed him obediently into the hall, pulling the door closed softly behind him.

"What exactly are you doing to cure my brother?" he demanded, venting his anger at the poor physician and laying this charge at his feet with no warning.

"All I can sire!" exclaimed Gaius indignantly, completely taken aback by this sudden outburst, "His symptoms are unlike any I have seen before. For a time I suspected poison of some kind but now only I prepare his meals and still his condition worsens."

"What about magic?" asked the prince, his voice softening slightly as he got his emotions in check, "Some kind of curse?"

"Possibly," Gaius grudgingly conceded, still smarting at the implied attack on his skills as a physician, "I will consult with Abraith."

"Good," said Uther bluntly, "I want to be informed as soon as you have any more information."

"Yes sire," Gaius replied quietly, directing his words at Uther's retreating back as the prince dismissed him and ended the conversation without so much as a nod, before striding swiftly down the passageway.

Re-entering his chambers, Gaius took one look at Lonán's broken expression of exhausted misery and hurried quickly to her side. Sitting beside her on the bed he drew her into his arms with fatherly care and held her tightly as she sobbed against his chest, inconsolable in the face of so much loss…

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_**Just a quick note to say that I am moving house this week and wont have internet connection for at least 6 days after that so it may be longer than normal till my next update... sorry guys! Thanks for all the support so far from my loyal regular reviewers: Mnemosyne77, Pink Koala, Foxie Roxie, WitchyWeasel and Mel1592. You guys rock GDx**_


	12. and Marriages

_**12. …and Marriages.**_

"My lords, ladies and gentlemen of Camelot, we are gathered here today to celebrate by the ancient rite of handfasting… the union of Uther Pendragon and Ygraine de Bois."

Uther stared stoically at the wizened and serious face of Sir William of Malmesbury as he began the long awaited marriage rites in his role as master of ceremonies. To his right, Geoffrey of Monmouth, the not quite so wizened looking cleric, held out the ancient book of law for him to read from.

An oppressive weight of resignation settled onto the young prince's shoulders as he stole a sideways glance at his bride. Long golden curls framed a sweet and open face; her eyes were clear blue and her lips soft and full, turning naturally into a graceful smile. He could not deny that she was indeed a great beauty… and yet time and again it was the pale skin of Lonán that flashed before his eyes, her raven hair and pure green eyes all that he could think of even now.

Swallowing down the bile that rose in his throat at the thought of all he had denied himself… and all that he had lost, for the sake of his duty, Uther forced himself to focus on the ceremony at hand.

"Is it your wish Uther, to become one with this woman?" questioned Sir William, gesturing at the two of them with a shaking hand.

"It is," he replied, a little too loudly.

"And is it your wish Ygraine, to become one with this man?"

The beautiful daughter of Athol de Bois inclined her head demurely, "It is," she confirmed quietly.

"Do any say nay?" asked Sir William dramatically, relishing his role as he stared expectantly at the room packed with courtiers, noblemen and freemen alike.

As the ceremony continued, Uther felt his eyes stray to the frail, emaciated form of his elder brother, supported on both sides as he was by Gaius and his manservant Torquil. The passing weeks had been nothing but brutal to the King, his mysterious illness continuing to baffle both Gaius and Abraith so that now all were resigned to watch the once powerful and majestic sovereign slowly lose his last impossible battle.

"Will you have this man to be your lord and husband?" Sir William was saying to Ygraine, "to live together in marriage?"

"I will," she replied without hesitation.

"Will you love him, comfort him, honour and respect him as thine own self?"

"I will."

"And keep him in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?"

"I will."

Sir William stepped forward toward them both and gestured for them to clasp their hands together, "With this garland I do tie a knot," he said, binding a length of strong vine around their wrists and wrapping it all the way to the tips of their fingers, "and in doing so," he continued, "bind your hands and your hearts for all eternity."

Ygraine's hand was cool and dry inside his own as Sir William instructed them to turn and speak their vows of declaration directly to each other. Uther forced himself to meet her gaze and repeat the words verbatim, in echo of the older man's prompts.

I, Uther Pendragon," he began, "do take thee, Ygraine de Bois, as my partner and mate. Never shall I seek to do thee harm; always will I strive for thine own happiness and welfare. I shall not seek to change thee in any way… I shall respect thee as I respect myself.

"I vow to….. love…" he intoned, his speech catching on this most emotive of words and he cleared his throat quickly to hide his faltering voice, "to love, honour, cherish and support thee, even as I ask these things in return. All this may the Gods grant us and favour our sacred union together."

Then it was Ygraine's turn to utter her bridal vow of dedication, her face calm and sure as she repeated her vows as they were laid out by the master of ceremonies. If she had noticed the catch in Uther's voice, the fact did not betray itself in her demeanour.

"And so the bond is made," declared Sir William with a flourish, fastening off the knotted garland and raising both his hands in the air in exaggerated delight, "In the joining of hands and the fashioning of a knot, so are your lives now bound," he concluded, "one to another. What has been so joined together, may no man put apart. By the symbols of this union, I now pronounce you… husband and wife."

As the couple turned to face the expectant crowd there was a great fanfare and a deafening cry of celebration that filled the court. In a blur of well-wishers they were whisked into the Grand Hall for the real festivities to commence.

Uther stood awkwardly amongst the throng, goblet of mead in hand, smiling politely at the mass of dignitaries that jostled to congratulate him as he watched his new wife from a distance, speaking quietly with her ladies in waiting.

"I believe I shall retire for the night brother," said Aurelius quietly by Uther's shoulder. Turning to face his elder sibling, Uther's eye's widened at the gaunt and withered King before him. The effort of attending the marriage ceremony had sapped the last of the poor man's strength and now his hollow eyes sagged in their sunken holes, his skin paper-thin and hanging from his bones. The flesh about his mouth had blistered with pocks and the foul stench of disease clung to him like a garment.

"Of course Sire," he replied hurriedly, grasping the Kings arm gently in his own.

Aurelius curled his skeletal fingers around Uther's hand and pulled him weakly toward him. As his brother lowered his head obediently he looked searchingly into his eyes, his lips quivering as he sought out the right words.

"Father…" he said at last, "Father would have been so proud of the man you have become Uther… _I_ am proud."

Uther said nothing as his brother's fingers slipped from his arm, unused as he was to this sort of praise from the King. With one final nod of his head he turned to leave and Torquil stepped forward to help his liege return to his chambers to rest.

With a strange feeling of pride and sadness, Uther focused once more on the celebrations happening around him. Waving for his goblet to be re-filled, the prince made his way over to a large group of his knights all long past the realms of sobriety.

"…did not waste any time!" Sir Bors the Younger was saying as Uther joined them mid-sentence, stepping up behind the young knight, "I heard tell they were married not three days past and are now residing at his family home in Glevum."

"Glevum?" repeated Uther in surprise, causing the knights to turn suddenly and face him in unison, "Glevum is the citadel of the House of Gorlois! Has young Rufus been wedded?"

"Ah… no Sire," stammered Bors, his face reddening in embarrassment that he had not noticed the prince approach.

"Then who?" asked Uther amiably, looking in bewilderment at the sea of nervous faces before him. "Surely old Gorlois the Elder would not have married off Evelyn already… she is but a child?"

Bors glanced apprehensively at his fellow knights for solidarity, but none would meet his gaze.

"Out with it man!" cried Uther in frustration.

"Gorlois…" muttered Bors at last, "Gorlois the Younger is newly wed."

The prince paled visibly as the reality of that statement slowly sunk in and a nauseated look of understanding flashed across his face. Clenching his jaw in anger, a strangled cry of rage gurgled upon his lips as he lurched forward and gripped the unfortunate knight by the jerkin. This sudden outburst caught the attention of the raucous crowd and all eyes were drawn to the heated scene, the cacophony of music and laughter dying quickly all around them.

"Who sir, tell me at _once…_ to whom is he married!" demanded the prince impatiently, ignorant of the spectacle he was causing.

Sir Bors tried desperately to maintain his balance as Uther pushed him back forcibly in his anger, "Lo..Lornán my Lord!" he stuttered, "I am sorry… he has wed the Princess Lornán of Éire!"

Releasing Bors with a sudden thrust of annoyance, Uther fixed him with a steel-like glower, "How has this come to pass… how is this even possible?"

Sir Caradoc stepped closer to the prince and raised his hands as if to ward off an imaginary blow as he addressed him, "Gorlois escorted the princess to the shores of Éire at the foot of Mount Killaraus as you instructed sire," he began, attempting to pacify the prince's anger. "However King Dubhán would not have her back… he swore he would murder her for her treachery rather than welcome her back into his court."

Uther took a deep breath, allowing these words to sink in as Sir Hectimere picked up the narrative, "Gorlois simply wed her to protect her my Lord-"

"That does not explain how they managed to wed in the first place," interrupted Uther, "No nobleman of the Pendragon court can marry without the express permission of the King!"

"But… my Lord, they _had _permission," Caradoc replied, "King Aurelius signed the papers himself…"

"Sire, my deepest apologies," said Bors contritely, "It was not my intention to…" his words trailed off as the prince waved him away dismissively, sitting down heavily at a nearby table.

An uneasy chatter rose slowly in the Grand Hall as people began to drift away from the group of knights, losing interest in the surely expression of the groom as he continued to stare into nothing in silence at the table.

"Come husband, will you not be merry on your wedding day?"

Uther snapped back to attention at these words and looked up to see his new bride smiling kindly down at him. Something in her open, gentle manner softened his mood and a twinge of guilt curled in his belly; after all, she had asked for this marriage no more than he had, the least he could do was feign civility with her.

"My apologies wife," he replied quietly as he rose to his feet before her, "come, let the music play once more."

With a clap of his hands the musicians obediently began to play a merry jig and soon the frivolity of the gathering had been all but restored. Standing close to his new bride, Uther turned and regarded her seriously, appraising the kind and gentle features of her countenance.

"Do you see now what you have married? What you have bargained for?" he demanded bitterly.

With a soft knowing look, Ygraine turned her head and met the prince's gaze, "Did you think the house of de Bois ignorant of the activities of the house of Pendragon?" she replied with a hint of amusement in her voice. "I well know that you were in love with Princess Lonán of Éire and that you fathered a child by her."

"You are misinformed madam," rejoined Uther sardonically, "the child did not survive."

Ygraine's eyes widened in shock and a look of deep sadness fell upon her face, "My Lord, I had not heard… I am truly sorry."

"It is what it is," replied the prince gruffly, "I am just sorry you do not have a more willing husband."

"You believe that I was eager for this marriage?" smiled Ygraine, attempting to make light of his confessed lack of feeling toward her, "No Uther, I understand that this is a marriage of political and social convenience. My Father commanded my co-operation with this alliance as much as Aurelius did yours, I am sure."

"My Brother thinks only of the people of Albion," defended Uther automatically, "with his failing health you must know that if I did not marry as the council advised-"

"You would not ascend to the throne, the country would be without a King… and all would fall into chaos, yes," said Ygraine glibly, "I am aware of the circumstances… I simply wish to make the best of them as I can."

Uther saw the honesty and sincerity in the young princess's eyes and made a vow to himself then that he would always strive to make their union bearable for her… even if he could not give her his heart.

"You are right of course," he said with a slight bow of his head, "Come, let us talk no more of these troublesome things… it is a wedding after all." With a small conciliatory smile, the prince extended his hand to his bride and led her toward the centre of the Grand Hall where a crowd of courtiers were moving harmoniously in time to the soaring beat of the music, their steps perfectly synchronised as they wove in and out of each other.

No sooner had the bride and groom joined themselves to this merry group than Uther became aware of a rustling of whispers rippling across the room and some raised voices coming from the corridor that he could not make out. Looking around in confusion and careful not to lose his step and crush an unfortunate nobleman's toe, he saw one of the King's personal guard come hurrying into the hall. Already most of the room had noted his sudden appearance and the music and its dancers came to an awkward stop for the second time that evening.

Looking quickly around the room, the guard took a deep breath and repeated the message he had been shouting out in the passageways just as the bells began to toll, "The King is dead!" he cried urgently, his eyes scanning the hall until they fell at last upon Uther, "_Long live the King!"_

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_**A/N – Apologies for how hideously long this took me to update… I hate moving house…**_


	13. Coronation

_**13. Coronation**_

Uther held his gaze firm and sure as he approached the Master of Ceremonies. Sir William had never been so busy and puffed out his chest proudly as the king marched toward him.

Dressed in his full official armour and sporting the bright red crest of the House of Pendragon, emblazoned regally across his chest, Uther looked every bit part, the boy that had knelt timidly at his Father's bedside long gone. His jaw was firm and set, his body lean and well honed from hours of training and manoeuvres with his knights, his eyes creased slightly with the weight of responsibility and determination and every citizen of Albion bristled with pride that this was their sovereign, their liege… their King. The tumultuous clamouring of their cheers and adulations rolled on and on until Sir William finally held up his hands for silence.

"Sire, is your Majesty willing to take the Oath?" he asked, as an expectant hush fell over the crowd.

"I am willing," confirmed Uther loudly, his resolute voice ringing out throughout the hall.

Geoffrey of Monmouth stepped out from beside Sir William and put the ancient book of law in Uther's hands, placing the kings right hand palm down on the thick cracked leather, before returning to his place on the raised steps.

"Do you solemnly swear to govern the people of Camelot," began Sir William, "and to uphold the laws and customs of the land?"

"I solemnly promise so to do," replied Uther.

"Will you – to your power, cause law and justice in mercy to be executed in all your judgements?"

"I will."

"Will you to the utmost of your powers maintain the law and customs of the land and serve the people of Camelot?"

"All this I promise to do," declared the King.

"Please approach the royal steps my Lord," invited Sir William, extending his arms dramatically and gesturing toward the stone steps before him.

Uther advanced to the steps with much sobriety, the burden of his rulership and the responsibility that was about to be bestowed upon him resting heavily on his brow. In one fluid movement, the king lowered himself onto one knee on the first of these stone steps.

Taking a deep breath the steady his pounding heart, Uther repeated the oath that he had committed to memory as a boy, but never dreamt that he would one day use, "I call upon the persons here present," he recited resolutely, "to witness that I, Uther Pendragon, do solemnly swear to fulfil my rightful station as Sovereign of Albion and carry out the duties of the crown with honour and mercy. The things which I have here before promised, I will perform and keep – so may the gods help me."

Holding aloft the heavy golden Imperial Crown of Albion, Sir William slowly approached the kneeling form of the king, "In sight of these witnesses and before the gods, I bestow the symbol of rulership and the authority bestowed upon you as heir apparent to Aurelius Ambrosius and rightful successor to the throne of Camelot and all Albion."

As the crown was placed gently onto his waiting head, Uther rose to his feet and returned the book of law to Geoffrey of Monmouth. From his left the master of the guard approached and placed the royal cloak of office upon his shoulders, while from his right the high chancellor presented him with the Great Sword of State, an ornate gilded blade to symbolise the power of his reign that he would wield.

"I give you… _your King!"_ declared Sir William with a stirring cry and a deafening cheer filled the court as King Uther turned to face his subjects for the first time. With a small smile of satisfaction, Uther accepted their exaltation with magnanimous grace, before ascending the steps and taking his seat on the grand throne of Camelot, the Sword of State held regally before him.

"Now O King," concluded Sir William, "having taken your vow and claimed your place on the throne you must kiss the book and sign the Oath

The book of law was brought before him once more, which he duly kissed in symbol of his service to the people and laws that bound them all. A quill, already charged with ink, was extended to him and with a flourish he scratched his signature onto the rough parchment, sealing his appointment as King.

Uther stared out at his people with quiet pride, his eyes falling briefly on his doting wife, the new Queen of Albion. Her support and strength had been unwavering over the past few weeks and already he had come to depend upon her gentle, reassuring presence.

With a firm nod of determination the King revelled in his moment of glory, resolving in his heart to be a better King than Albion had ever known. He was not blind to the machinations of the Saxons and the villains that still roamed the country as his brother had been. He would clean the land of their rancour and build a new Albion, one dominated by peace and prosperity. The land would flourish under his rule and all would remember his name as the King that won the love and respect of his people and brought harmony to the land.

Yes, he would be King of Kings, a force to be feared and yet also admired and revered. He would have an army of sons, he thought to himself, his heart only twitching slightly as his eyes swung momentarily to Gorlois and Lonán who stood respectfully to his left. The past was the past and the future was bright he resolved… nothing would stand in the way of his vision… nothing.


	14. First Steps

_**14. First Steps**_

Uther Pendragon marched purposefully down the quiet corridors of the castle with the confident air of a King, a man unrivalled and unmatched in every way. Truth be told, after eighteen months of rulership the heavy crown still felt strange perched on top of his royal head but you would not know if from the swagger in his step. He had learned many things from Aurelius during his short reign and how to look the part and feign self-assurance in any situation was just one of them… it would not do for ones subjects to feel that their King still felt like a boy in so many ways.

As he descended the main castle steps he spotted Abraith, trusted court sorcerer and advisor, speaking quietly with his man servant Torquil. As he approached, the boy nodded once to Abraith, bowed low to Uther and hurried on his way, two large wooden buckets banging against his paunch as he went.

"Abraith!" called Uther in greeting, nodding in recognition to the sorcerer's deep bow and gesturing for him to rise, "How goes it this fine morning?"

"Very well Sire," he replied with a smile, "And I trust his Majesty is also well, judging by his countenance?"

"Indeed I am Abraith; the reports that came this morning from the North indicate that the uprising has been quelled and the men are returning home."

"Welcome news my Lord… and what of the insurgence at Argavenny?"

Uther's face fell slightly as the joy of one victory was marred by the reminder of another ongoing battle for peace, "The rebels continue to hold their ground," spat Uther in disgust, "I do not understand it, do we not offer them a free and peaceable life in Albion? Why must they continue to fight my rule?"

"Peasants my Lord do not know what is good for them," answered Abraith with a sigh, "Fortunately, there are still some that are only too willing to serve… should they be given the opportunity."

"Opportunity?" inquired Uther, inclining his head toward his advisor, "What are you speaking of?"

"Torquil Sire, he approached me this morning requesting more duties from you."

"Am I so fearsome that my own manservant cannot speak to me himself about his workload?"

Abraith smiled reassuringly at his sovereign, "It is not a case of fear, simply respect. He did not want to trouble you with his trivial problems and spoke to me instead."

"And what were these concerns?"

The sorcerer sighed deeply, placing his hand on the King's shoulder and drawing him into walking slowly beside him across the castle courtyard, "Your brother Aurelius, may he rest in Avalon, selected Torquil as King's man and it was a choice the council approved, his family have long served the royal household and he is a loyal and trusted servant," Uther folded his arms across his chest as his advisor spoke, annoyance furrowing his brow, "Now that you are King his service falls to you and yet you continue to favour Sebring."

"I _trust_ Sebring," barked Uther defensively, "He was by my side during our flight to Brittany, he readied me for battle when we fought Vortigern and _he_ dressed me for my coronation… I do not know this Torquil as I know Sebring, surely as King I can choose my own servants?"

"Sire, forgive me if I have spoken out of turn," said Abraith, bowing his head in contrition, "But as your advisor I ask that you please allow me to council you on this small matter."

Uther snorted in derision, "Come then Abraith, advise me; how is Torquil better suited to empty the royal chamber pot than Sebring?"

"After the loss of your poor brother the council is simply concerned that only those that can be trusted are allowed in close service to the King," replied Abraith quietly, "Torquil has proven his loyalty and was with the late king to the end, he has proven himself worthy and is deserving of the position."

"Sebring has proven himself worthy to me!" cried Uther in despair.

"Yet _not_ to the council," rejoined the sorcerer, "I would suggest that at this point in your rule, it would not do to be at odds with the council members over such a triviality… a divided court has no strength Sire."

Uther regarded the older man, reluctantly weighing up his words with a begrudging air of defeat, "Very well," he conceded at last, "I will give Torquil more duties… but I am not happy Abraith, the man may be loyal but he is an absolute clotpole."

"Of course Sire," laughed Abraith, "He is a servant, not a physician!"

Spotting the boy returning with his water buckets now full, Uther beckoned him over, rolling his eyes at the water he allowed to slop all over the flagstones in his haste to reach him.

"I have decided to increase your duties Torquil," instructed the King, speaking to the greasy crown of the servant's head as he prostrated himself before his master, "Once you have delivered that water, saddle my horse, I will ride out with the Queen in an hour."

"Yes your Majesty!" beamed the boy, the sallow pockmarks on his adolescent skin quivering as he threw a quick glance of gratitude at Abraith, before speeding off to carry out the King's request.

"Happy?" demanded Uther with a dramatic sigh.

"Exceedingly sire," grinned his companion, watching the boy trip over his own feet as he hurried up the steps, spilling yet more water over his tunic, "I will inform the council at once."

**

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**

"Curse that retched boy!" exclaimed Uther in annoyance as he shifted uncomfortably for the umpteenth time in his saddle.

"Whatever is the matter my Lord?" questioned Ygraine, smiling gently as her husband squirmed on top of his horse, "It appears there are ants in your britches!"

"There may as well be," grumbled the King as he jumped nimbly to the ground and began to adjust the girth straps and stirrups, "I give that boy one small task and he cannot even accomplish _that_ successfully! Why, these buckles are dangerously loose! Is he trying to _kill_ me?"

"Come now Uther," laughed the Queen, "You are being overdramatic, I'm sure it was a simple error."

"You don't understand!" exclaimed Uther angrily as he marched over to Ygraine's horse to test her straps also, "I am subjected to the tedium and scrutiny of _which_ men I must have serve me and _this_ is the result! You see?" he cried, pulling angrily at the loose buckles of her stirrups, "I should put the idiot in the stocks for his incompetence, not reward him with more duties!"

Ygraine reached out her hand and ran her fingers gently through the King's hair, turning his head to face her, "The poor boy is just trying to please you my love… that cannot be easy."

Uther let out a heavy sigh as the anger inside him started to dissipate, shaking his head as he met the Queen's gaze affectionately, "And yet you accomplish it with ease."

"Ah yes," chuckled Ygraine, "But I am Queen - I have other… methods, of gaining the Kings favour."

"Pray tell madam, what are the methods of which you speak?" asked Uther mischievously as he ran one hand gently up the inside of her leg in the pretence of returning her foot to the newly tightened stirrup.

"My Lord!" she exclaimed in mock rebuke, stilling his wandering hand in her own and leaning down towards him, "That is not the proper behaviour of a noble King."

Uther lifted his other hand and traced the delicate lines of his wife's face, "Not even between himself and his adoring Queen?" he asked quietly.

Ygraine grinned impishly at him, allowing her eyes to slide subtly to the left before nodding her head in that direction, "Not with Sir Leon as such a close observer Sire."

Uther let out a roar of laughter at the uncomfortable look of embarrassment on the face of his personal guard, the deepening colour of his cheeks contrasting against his strawberry blond hair.

"Leon is newly married and has a young son of his own!" said Uther merrily, "With little Leon the Younger running around as testament do not think him naïve to the ways of women my dear."

"_Woman_ my Lord," corrected Sir Leon with a good humoured smile, "Not women, my wife is more that enough for me."

"Well said Sir Leon," said Ygraine, clapping her hands together with mirth as Uther mounted his horse once more.

"Come wife," he called jovially, "Let us put these energies into our morning ride, let us see who can be first to reach the edges of Darkling Wood!"

With the wind whipping at their faces, all three riders raced across the open fields, easily clearing any fallen trees and scrub that stood in their way. Leaning forward in his saddle and urging his horse to go faster still, Uther rounded the last hill and flew toward the forest edge, only reining his horse in at the last minute as he skidded to a halt triumphantly.

"Well ridden sire," called Sir Leon breathlessly, as he and Ygraine caught up to him.

Lifting Ygraine from her saddle, Uther took her arm and glanced briefly back at Leon, "Guard the horses my friend, the Queen and I shall have a short stroll and meet you back here presently."

Alone at last, the royal couple stepped past the fringes of the forest edge and made their way toward a small clearing in the trees. Spreading out his heavy cloak upon the thick bracken, Uther helped Ygraine find a comfortable position before settling himself down beside her. The sounds of the birds in the trees sang merrily around them as they sat in companionable silence, Ygraine picking absent-mindedly at the petals of some wild flowers and allowing each one to fall softly to the ground beside her.

"You are very quiet Ygraine, is there something troubling you my love?" asked Uther after a while.

The beautiful blond in his arms let out a dry laugh, turning to look him in the eye, "'My love' you say so blithely… and yet it is this that is perplexing me."

"How so?" asked Uther, concern marking his brow.

"On our wedding day you confessed to me that you were not a willing husband," she explained, "Yet now you call me 'love', which is it to be?"

Uther searched her face, his expression serious as he sought out the right words to express himself, "Much has changed in eighteen months Ygraine," he said at last.

"And?" she pressed, placing her hand against her husband's cheek, "_Do_ you love me?"

A gentle smile broke out on Uther's face, lighting up his eyes as he spoke, "I do," he assured her.

A cry of delight bubbled up in Ygraine's mouth as she pressed her lips to his with a sigh of contentment. The King let out a throaty laugh between kisses, enjoying the pleasure of his wife's attentions, "I did not ever think it possible," he said quietly, pressing his face into her hair and breathing deeply, "I believe you have bewitched me madam."

Ygraine leant her forehead against his, running her fingers through his cropped hair as she stared intently into his eyes, "If that is so my Lord then you are in my power and must grant me one wish."

"Anything!" the King cried theatrically, "What is it to be? The quill of a porcupine? The tooth of a crocodile perhaps… no! I've got it… the golden feather of a Griffin!"

"Invite Gorlois back to court," she said softly.

Uther's face darkened immediately at the mention of his old friend and his arms dropped to his side, his prior mirth forgotten, "Of what concern is Gorlois to you?" he demanded.

"My concern is not for him but for you," she replied, placing her hand gently on his arm, "After your coronation the first thing you did was give him the Dukedom of Cornwall."

"What of it?"

"I am not blind Uther, Cornwall is far away and this new position has kept him constantly away from court."

"That was my intention!" cried Uther angrily, "I didn't think you'd like to have my old _lover_ hanging around in a court where you are newly Queen!"

"And I appreciate the sentiment," she said soothingly, "But as you said, much has changed in eighteen months and I do not doubt your love for me, Lornán's presence would not trouble me."

Uther sat quietly for a moment, brooding over his wife's words, "Why now," he asked at last, "What has suddenly spurred your desire to see Gorlois return?"

"My intention husband, is to see you happy," she replied, "it has not escaped my notice these past few months that you miss Gorlois, both as a companion and on the battle field."

"But Lornán-"

"Lornán is Gorlois' wife now, as I am yours," interrupted the Queen, smoothing out the creases from the deep frown in her husband's forehead with her thumb, "The scandal of your affair has long died… as have, I believe, your feelings."

"They have," he confirmed with a slow nod of his head.

"Then it is settled," she said, clapping her hands together, "you will bring them back to court and finally stop complaining that you have no competent Knights by your side in battle!"

Uther did not smile at her teasing comments, his expression remaining serious, "It will be hard," he said softly, squeezing her hand in his own.

"That may be so," she answered blithely as she rose gracefully to her feet and stepped back onto the path toward Leon and the horses, "But that Uther Pendragon, is when life is most interesting."


	15. The Isle of the Blessed

_**15. The Isle of the Blessed**_

"The Duchess of Cornwall, your Majesty."

"Thank you Varnum," replied Ygraine at once, setting down her quill and turning to the door in readiness.

As her visitor entered, the Queen rose smoothly from her seat and glided across the room, drawing the Duchess up from her deep curtsy. Taking the other woman's hands in her own she studied her features searchingly, smiling welcomingly to her.

"It is good to finally speak with you again Lornán," she began, gesturing to a chair opposite her own for her to be seated, "I barely spoke two sentences to you before you were whisked away to Cornwall."

Lornán stared wide eyed at the wife of her old lover and appeared unsure of how best to react to such a greeting, "You honour me ma'am," she answered at last, smoothing out the folds of her gown as she settled herself carefully, "but the pleasure of this renewed acquaintance is mine I assure you."

"Let us agree that it is an equitable meeting," the Queen rejoined gracefully, beckoning over a serving girl to fill two goblets with wine. "I trust your journey from Cornwall was uneventful?"

"It was your Majesty," confirmed the raven haired woman, inclining her head in thanks as she accepted the proffered wine, "and the rooms that you have provided here at court are most comfortable, I thank you."

"The views from that side of the castle are most spectacular," Ygraine informed her conversationally, watching Lornán calmly as the other woman played listlessly with her wine.

"Indeed they are," Lornán agreed, nodding her head briefly in concord with the Queen, "The lush forests of Camelot are a welcome change to the views from Tintagel Caslte."

"You were not contented in Cornwall?"

"In many ways, I was of course content," she replied with a sad smile, "the land itself was beautiful… but, Tintagel is so _isolated_…" the Duchess broke off suddenly, her eyes filling with tears as she leaned toward the Queen earnestly, "I am so grateful to be back at court my Lady."

"I wasn't aware that you had many acquaintances at court?" asked Ygraine in surprise, "I do not mean to be unkind… I simply had not heard of any associations here that would be missed in Cornwall?"

Lornán straightened herself slowly, blinking away her tears rapidly, "No ma'am but it is surprising how quickly you miss the bustle of court life," she replied hurriedly, "Besides, I am thinking also of my husband, his standing at court has suffered greatly in recent months… you must know," she added quietly, "He gave up so much when he married me."

"From what I understand of the situation, what he did was a noble thing indeed," said Ygraine kindly, "Your Father would not have you and… Camelot was…"

"No home for me," interjected the Duchess, her intonation free from bitterness, "not then."

"You have been happy with Gorlois?" Ygraine probed gently.

A sift smile grew slowly on Lornán's lips as she thought of her relationship with her husband, "He is a wonderful man indeed your Majesty," she agreed, "He has always taken great pains to care for me… even going so far as jeopardising his friendship with Uther…"

"Men are stubborn creatures," interrupted Ygraine smoothly, "And my husband is no different; their bond will grow again I am most sure of it."

Lornán drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly as she dwelt on these words, "Your Majesty," she began at last, tentatively broaching the thinly veiled subject of her relationship with Uther, "Please allow me to apologise for any anguish my past indiscretions may have caused you and to-"

"My dear," interjected Ygraine, placing her hand reassuringly on top of Lornán's, "I knew full well of your affair when I married Uther and I bear him no malice, so why would I you?"

"And you still agreed to marry?" asked Lornán in surprise.

"Let us not pretend that the choice of a Lady's marriage mate is always of her own choosing," she replied glibly, "But much has changed in two years Lornán and now I find myself in the happy position of loving the man my Father forced me to marry – a fact that took me by surprise as much as it did Uther I believe."

"It seems that fortune has favoured us both."

"It would seem so, would it not?" smiled the Queen pointedly, "You are a Duchess… and I am Queen."

There was no malice in Ygraine's words, simply a gentle assertion of the order of things and Lornán nodded her head graciously in acceptance, "Believe me," she replied, "I would not have it any other way."

Ygraine studied her features for a few moments, before nodding briefly, clearly satisfied that they understood each other. As she drained the last of the wine from her cup, she rose swiftly to her feet, "Will you be joining us tonight in the Great Hall?" she enquired pleasantly, "Uther is holding a feast to celebrate the recent victory at Argavenny and then all the noblemen of court are riding out to hunt Wildren."

Lornán stood and bowed her head respectfully to Ygraine, "Gorlois will of course attend but I am afraid I cannot, the journey from Tintagel has left me in much need of rest."

"I thought that you were eager to return to the bustle of court?" asked Ygraine in surprise.

A brief look of panic flashed across the eyes of the Duchess, quickly being replaced by sad regret, "That I am your Majesty," she said reassuringly, "But my carriage arrived in Camelot in the early hours of this morning and I fear I did not sleep a wink… I beg you to excuse me from the celebrations."

"Of course," said Ygraine bemusedly, nodding her head in acceptance of the dark-haired woman's parting curtsey and with that the Duchess was gone and the Queen was left alone to ponder on her strange reluctance to appear at the feast.

As the evening wore on this thought tugged at Ygraine's mind, distracting her from the festivities taking place around her. The Great Hall was a-whirl with jesters, jugglers and a whole plethora of culinary delights; but none could draw the Queen's interest.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Uther and Gorlois attempting to make idle conversation with each other and the sudden thought hit her that perhaps Lornán had not wanted to attend for fear she feel uncomfortable in the presence of the King at so public an event. As far as Ygraine was aware they had not spoken since Gorlois was given the Dukedom and even then their interaction was purely ceremonial.

Ygraine sighed deeply to herself. As re-calling Gorlois and Lornán to court had been her idea she had resolved to make Lornán feel at ease as best she could. Her intention had been for her earlier audience with the Duchess to begin to build a bridge of friendship. With the past very much in the past, of that she was now sure, she saw no reason for this not to be accomplished… and yet still Lornán would not attend the feast.

Rising to her feet, the Queen waved away the entourage that waited on her and walked briskly over to the King, smiling broadly at seeing his Majesty laughing uproariously with Gorlois over childhood reminiscences.

"Husband, I must retire I'm afraid… this revelry is all too much for me," she said, bowing her head sedately.

"So soon? Very well my love," rejoined the King, kissing his wife chastely on the hand, "I trust that you have enjoyed the celebration?"

"You have surpassed yourself my Lord," she laughed, her eyes dancing with mirth, "The talking birds were truly an amazement, Abraith is to be congratulated. When do you all depart on the hunt?"

"We shall be leaving in an hour or two," answered the King, punching Gorlois jovially on the arm, "We must show the Duke how big the beasts have grown in the last few months."

"I am told they are now three times their natural size," grinned Gorlois, "But I cannot see how that can be so, the Wildren we hunted as boys were no more than a foot in height - tell me the King exaggerates milady!"

"Oh, I wish he were," cried the Queen in genuine distress, "These wretched animals are terrorising the nocturnal creatures in the forests, not to mention the shepherds and night watchmen in the fields and villages."

"Do not trouble yourself dearest, my Knights and I shall cull the beasts and use their hides to wipe out boots."

"I will leave you to your quest," smiled Ygraine, bowing her head to her husband and accepting Gorlois' low bow before turning and exiting the great hall, her maidservant trailing meekly behind her as she went.

The raucous din of the feast fell quickly behind her as she made her way to the royal quarters. She had not gone up more than three steps of the entry way before a movement in the shadows caught her eye. There, moving swiftly between the deep arches of the market place was the outline of a figure hurrying across the flagstones. The dull red of their cloak, pulled protectively around their features, appeared a rusty brown in the light from the torches.

As the figure passed beneath the farthest sconce, they turned their head and Ygraine sucked in her breath in shock. The red cloaked figure was none other than the Duchess of Cornwall, who apparently had miraculously recovered her recent bought of exhaustion.

"Emma, there is something I must attend to," she said urgently to her maidservant in a low voice, "You are to proceed to my chambers and wait for me there, if anyone asks of my whereabouts I have gone to my bed with a head pain is that clear?"

"Yes milady," replied the girl, her eyes wide with intrigue.

"I put you under oath, do you understand?" she reiterated firmly, gripping the young girls arm to emphasis her point.

"Yes ma'am! Not a word, I promise!"

"Good girl, run along now."

Ygraine watched the frightened servant scamper up the stone steps that led to the royal sleeping chambers, waiting impatiently for her to disappear from view. When at last she was gone, the Queen looked around quickly for guards and on seeing that all was still, pulled her own ceremonial cloak around her and hurried after the raven haired woman, being careful to keep enough distance between them so as not to alert the Duchess of her presence.

In and out of the imperial residences she followed her, out of the main courtyard, passed the castle stables which were a-bustle with the imminent departure of the hunt and on toward the blacksmiths stable houses in the poorer side of town. She watched Lornán slip inside one of the stalls and begin saddling a horse, passing a few coins to the stable hand as she went.

Hugging close to the shadows, Ygraine entered the stables at the opposite end, careful to quieten her chosen horse as she approached and set about saddling him as quickly as she could. As she fastened the last of the straps in place she heard the unmistakable sound of hooves on stone pass by the wooden barred windows of the stable. Peering through the bars she saw the now familiar red-cloaked figure leading her horse quickly down the abandoned street. Realising that her horse too would make such a noise she quickly tied loose sacking around her horse's hooves, tying it off securely with some twine.

As she led her horse out of the stall and after Lonán she paused only to pick up a heavy woollen cloak left on a hook on the wall. Slipping it deftly over her shoulders and raising the hood to disguise her features she led the beast silently into the street, grateful that Lornán's activities had enabled her to enter and exit unnoticed.

Listening out for the echoing sound of Lornán's horse she was able to follow her relatively easily and as they worked their way through the streets Ygraine realised there was but one gateway out of Camelot that the Duchess could be heading for. Passing noiselessly down a side passage, the Queen led her docile horse on an adjacent route, slipping some coins of her own to a bored looking guard on sentry duty in a sleepy part of the village.

Ygraine slipped the improvised mufflers from the horses hooves then mounted the creature in one fluid movement, speeding across the open fields to the shelter of the tree-line of the surrounding woods, making her way quickly to the summit of the little hill. Sure enough, in the muted moonlight the Queen could clearly see Lornán, now also on horse-back, racing away from Camelot's walls.

"What are you up to Lornán…" muttered Ygraine to herself and she urged her steed into a gentle canter, careful not attract the attention of the rider in the distance.

On and on the Duchess rode, her apparent urgency to reach her destination making her careless in covering her tracks. Without too much trouble, Ygraine was able to make sure she never left her sight, all the while concealing herself in the shadows.

Finally, Lornán slowed her pace and trotted breathlessly up to a little jetty peaking out from between the trees at the mouth of a vast lake. Stilling her own horse in the shadows, Ygraine watched as the Duchess tied her horse to a nearby tree before making her way along the jetty and stepping down into a small boat that bobbed gently in the water. She could see no oars of any kind but seemingly without need for them, the boat surged forward in the water and soon disappeared into the inky darkness of the night.

As the minutes turned into hours, the Queen began to suspect that Lornán had taken this opportunity to escape and would not be returning at all. It was only the thought of the love that she had seen in Lornán's eyes that stopped her from returning there and then to Camelot to sound the alarm. Surely she would not abandon a husband she clearly loved… and if she would, for what? Her own people would not have her and has far as she knew she had no other affiliations in the area.

It was not until the light of dawn had long begun to bleed into the hem of the morning sky that the sound of lapping water reached Ygraine's weary ears and with a sigh of relief she saw Lornán returning. Huddled in close to her resting horse, the Queen clutched the rough material of her borrowed cloak around her, thankful for its added warmth and watched with bleary eyes as the red-cloaked figure of the Duchess disembarked from the tiny boat and hurried to untie her horse and be on her way.

In just the same way as they had come, the two women made their way back down the path toward Camelot, one serenely oblivious to the presence of the other.

As the imposing form of the castle rose up over the brow of the hill, Ygraine heard too late the sound of the hunt up ahead and before she could think of a way to avoid it, Lornán had hurtled straight into the path of the tracking dogs, her horse rising up in alarm at the snarling creatures.

"_Hold!" _came the bellowing cry of Sir Caradoc, instantly commanding the dogs to leave her be and return to their master.

"You there, show your face at once!" shouted Sir Leon, addressing poor Lonán sternly.

With trembling fingers she slowly complied, raising her head slowly to look at the angry circle of men that surrounded her.

"Lornán!" cried Gorlois in surprise, expecting his wife to be safely tucked up in their chambers in Camelot where he had left her before the feast.

"Whatever are you doing out here alone woman?" demanded Uther impatiently, Lornán was the last person he wanted to deal with now, especially during his precious hunt.

"I…" She stammered nervously, her eyes flicking from one judgemental face to another, "I-"

"_Lornán, I concede, I concede… you are definitely the champion!"_ shouted Ygraine, her words cutting off the Duchess mid-sentence as she careened headlong into the fray, pulling her horse up abruptly before the King and his men, "My Lord!" she cried merrily, "How fortunate to have seen you, how was the hunt?"

"Ygraine?" said Uther, his eyes widening in shock at his wife's sudden appearance, "Where is your entourage?"

"I dismissed them," she replied blithely, smoothing her windswept hair back from her face, "The Duchess and I wished to have a morning ride together," she explained, the smile that shone out from her face not quiet reaching her eyes as she cast a veiled glare at her erstwhile companion.

"You cannot dismiss the men I assign to guard you Ygraine," fumed the King, "The land is still running with vagabonds, criminals and insurgents to the throne, it is not safe for you to travel alone outside of the castle walls!"

"Nor you Lornán," growled Gorlois, a dark frown etched deeply into his forehead.

"I apologise husband," replied Ygraine demurely, "I assure you; it was not my intention to worry you or endanger our lives in any way."

"Just be sensible my love," admonished the King, his anger dissipating at last.

"Of course my Lord," she answered, nodding with interest at the giant Wildren carcasses tied neatly onto a long pole slung between two pack-horses, "I see you were successful?"

"Of course," agreed Uther with a self-satisfied smile, his past impatience all but forgotten. "You should have seen Gorlois' face when we flushed the first beast from its hole!"

"Surprise would be too pretty a word!" goaded Sir Ector with glee, "We _did _warn you of their growth before the hunt you know."

"No amount of warning could ready me for _that!_" exclaimed Gorlois defensively, "Besides, I killed the brute regardless did I not?"

"That you did my friend," laughed Uther, "the largest of them all!"

"Do you return to the castle directly husband?" enquired Ygraine, sensing this banter could continue indefinitely.

"We shall be retuning presently," informed the King, "But first we must show the people that their forest and their feilds are safe once more from Wildren."

"Then we will leave you to your parade sire," said the Queen hurriedly, urging her horse forward briskly, "Come Lornán, I'll race you to the city gates!"

As the two woman rode toward Camelot side by side, Ygraine studied the young Duchess carefully, scrutinising her pale and agitated demeanour, "As soon as the horses are stabled, we will retire to my private chambers," she said firmly, picking up her pace, "And you can explain to me exactly what it is I have covered for."

* * *

_**A/N Many thanks to Mnemosyne77 for taking precious time out of her busy schedule to give me some pointers on this chapter… your opinion is gold.**_


	16. Mother and Daughter

_**16. Mother and Daughter **_

"You honestly thought that I was a traitor?"

"Can you blame me?" demanded Ygraine grimly, arching her eyebrow questioningly at Lornán, "You sneak off in the direction of the rebellion, with no guard and under the cover of darkness; what conclusions would you have drawn?"

"And yet you still chose to follow me rather than sound the alarm?" queried Lornán incredulously.

"Foolhardy, I know," replied the Queen, "but I had hoped that I could talk sense into you before it was too late."

The Duchess shook her head in wonder, "It seems I would make a terrible spy in any eventuality, if I cannot even spot the Queen of Albion hot on my tail."

Ygraine laughed dryly at this, contemplating Lornán's pensive features as they rode, side by side, through the dim forest, "There are not many that would have as much reason for treachery as you my dear," she said softly, watching her companion's eyes widen in surprise.

"Whatever our past you Majesty, I would never betray Uther in that way," she replied urgently, her brilliant green eyes staring piercingly at the Queen, "It is true, none have been more wronged by him than me… but his is a good King, faithful and loyal to his people and that is what counts above all else."

With a deep breath, the Queen nodded slowly, a brief smile passing across her features, the first in days, "I believe you Lornán and I thank you… there are many women that would not be so level headed."

"I could say the same of you in this situation," replied the Duchess pointedly. Ygraine made no reply and the ride continued in silence, the muffled sound of hooves on hard soil the only thing to break the monotony.

As the two women immerged from between a group of trees, the woodland opened up to reveal the now familiar little jetty and the sparkling lake that stood between them and the Isle of the Blessed.

"You are sure we will not be missed?" asked Lornán anxiously, stepping gingerly down into the waiting boat that bobbed gently on the surface of the lake.

"The King is holding emergency council meetings all this week to try and resolve the new threat in the west, we shall not be missed," assured the Queen as she too settled down in the boat, "Besides… it is a little late to worry about that, now that we are at our destination."

Nodding her head apprehensively, the Duchess looked briefly at the bow of the boat, her eyes glowing an intense golden colour as she muttered the words, "Forstearan," and the small craft lurched forward across the waters as if of its own accord.

The short journey to traverse the breadth of the lake was undertaken in almost perpetual silence, both women lost in their own thoughts and preoccupations as they approached the island that rose up out of the water, the early morning sun bathing its shores in dazzling sunlight.

The grand monastery cast an impressive outline on the horizon, its walls ancient and weathered; a stoic monument to the ancient arts, nestled among the lush greenery of the well-tended grounds.

As the vessel neared a little landing stage, a woman walked out toward them dressed in the customary garb of the High order of Priestesses that inhabited the island, a simple long-line shift beneath a mustard yellow hooded cloak that flowed out behind her as she walked.

"You return so soon Duchess, truly this is a delight," called the older woman in greeting, her eyes widening in surprise to see the identity of her companion, "Your Majesty!" she cried incredulously, "This truly _is _an honour!" With a smooth, graceful step the woman sank down into a low bow, "It seems my powers of foresight are failing me."

"Ingrid, how do you fare?" asked Lornán with a smile, embracing the older woman warmly before turning to help the Queen disembark from the boat.

"Little has changed from your last visit not two days hence," replied Ingrid lightly, glancing with an enquiring eye between the two nobles before her.

"Forgive our intrusion," said the Duchess apologetically, "but the trip was… necessary. May I introduce Queen Ygraine of Camelot?"

"You do not intrude my dear Lornán," rejoined the Priestess soothingly, bowing her head once more at Ygraine and addressing her directly; "A pleasure to make your acquaintance milady."

"Ingrid is the High Priestess here your Majesty," informed Lornán quickly.

Ygraine nodded her head in recognition as the three of them began to walk toward the monastery walls, "Your little island seems quite the well guarded secret, Ingrid," she commented as they passed beneath the entrance gates.

"The Isle of the Blessed is secluded your Majesty, I grant you, but many are aware of our presence, we have no secrets here." Turning her head she stepped away towards the main building, "If you will excuse me – I will fetch Nimueh for you."

"Who is Nimueh?" asked the Queen once they were alone once more.

"She is the under-priestess who has been charged with the care of my daughter," Lornán replied quietly, her eyes refusing to rise and meet Ygraine's penetrative gaze.

The Queen lapsed quickly into silence while they waited for Nimueh, a troubled frown sinking across her brow once more.

"Lornán!" came a cry of delight from behind as a younger looking woman rushed down the entry steps in a whirl of excitement. As her eyes fell upon the Queen her step faltered slightly and Ygraine was not certain but seemed to sense a feeling of animosity from her as she came to join them.

"Your majesty," greeted Nimueh smoothly, not missing a beat and dropping nimbly into a deep prostration before Ygraine, before rising to her feet and embracing Lornán fiercely, "You have come to see her again so soon?"

Lornán nodded her head by way of response, "Would you take us to her?"

"Of course!" cried the priestess in delight, "she is in the gardens, I will take you directly."

As reserved as Ygraine felt about Lornán's unwilling confession as to the existence of a daughter (one that Uther presumed dead no less), nothing prepared her for the emotions she would feel on seeing the child in the flesh. There, sitting quietly by herself among the scented flowers, sat a beautiful little girl with golden hair and brilliant blue eyes and immediately, the Queen's heart went out to the child.

"There she is Ygraine… there's my child," said Lornán simply as Nimueh ran down the grassy slope toward the young girl, leaving them alone at the garden's edge. "You said that you must see for yourself that my story is true… well there is your proof."

"She has blond hair," said Ygraine in a hushed whisper, unable to tear her eyes from the child before her.

"Yes," nodded the Duchess, "I inherited my looks from my Father, Dubhán after all does mean 'dark one'_._ My Mother was fair-haired just as Morgause is."

"Morgause?" repeated Ygraine, hearing the name for the first time.

The Duchess smiled softly, her eyes melting in fond memory as she looked at last at the Queen, "She has my mother's blond hair… why not her name also."

"How often have you seen her?"

"Since the day I gave her up… Woden's day last was the first time," she said sadly, "Nimueh sent correspondence to Tintagel when she could, telling me of her progress… but it is no comparison to holding her in my arms."

"And Gorlois does not know of her existence?" asked Ygraine suddenly as she watched Nimueh lift up the little girl and make her way back over toward them.

Lornán shook her head, no. "There were those that had threatened her life, no one could know about her, not Gorlois, not Uther… _especially _not Uther," hissed the Duchess fiercely, "I could not take that chance you _must _understand that," she implored, she eyes searching Ygraine's desperately, "You know how the courts would see her existence?"

"As a challenge to the throne for any future heir Uther has," replied the Queen automatically, "For any future child _I_ have…" She added as the weight of Lornán's predicament and the situation she now found herself in weighed heavily upon her.

"I must implore you again to please, _please_ agree to keep my secret and maintain my child's security," begged the Duchess beseechingly. "You would not answer before you saw her for yourself, so I entreat you now to please… answer my request… my child's life depends upon it."

Ygraine stood silently, her troubled blue eyes watching the carefree nature of Lornán's child sadly as she approached, "There is no doubt from her mannerisms and the look she has about her eyes and mouth that she is Uther's child and as such… an heir of Camelot," she began slowly, "I came here today to confirm what I knew in my heart to be true… she is who you say she is. As Uther's Queen I am duty bound to inform him of her whereabouts-"

"_No!_" cried Lornán in horror, clutching at the Queen's arm in distress.

"However…" Ygraine continued, taking Lornán's hand in her own, "on the other hand her position would be most fragile if returned to court, especially if Uther and I have a male heir."

"She would be murdered," replied the Duchess, her voice trembling as she spoke, her eyes screwed up tightly against the devastating images that flashed before her.

"Sadly… I would agree," confirmed the Queen, grasping her arm in support and turning Lornán's face to meet her own, "Do not fear," she said at last, "I will not betray you… nor her."

An enormous feeling of relief welled up inside Lornán, coupled with the immediate release of months of pent up worry and emotion, all gushing out in one tangled overwhelming mass. Clutching at Ygraine, Lornán drew her close, thanking her repeatedly in her ear and sobbing uncontrollably into her neck.

Ygraine held on to the younger woman tightly, stroking her hair soothingly until she had composed herself again, "Go," she said at last with a small smile, "Spend some time with you daughter, I shall wait for you by the water."

Lornán wiped the tears quickly from her eyes as the Queen turned and made her way back to the boat. Taking a deep, calming breath she hurried over to where Nimueh stood, her daughter now playing once more on the grass.

"Morgause!" called Nimueh in a sing-song voice, waving her over to join them. Obediently, the child rose and scampered toward them, running quickly into Nimueh's arms before shyly holding out a small flower to Lornán. A look of un-surpassing joy flashed across her face and tears welled in her eyes once again as she thanked the girl and tucked the small flower behind her ear.

"Do you remember this lady?" asked the young priestess, gently pushing the child's hair back from her eyes as she spoke.

Morgause nodded sagely, her sombre blue-grey eyes staring unwaveringly at the Duchess, "Mother," she breathed quietly.

"And do you know what that means?" prompted Nimueh with a gleam in her eye.

The small girl shook her head slowly, her eyes wide in wonder.

"It means she loves you very much," she said emphatically, "why don't you run and find us some more flowers?"

Morgause beamed happily at her guardian and wriggled out of her grasp, running as fast as she could toward the beds of flowers that lined the gardens.

"Why did you bring her?" demanded Nimueh as soon as Morgause was out of earshot.

"It could not be helped, she discovered me returning from this place two days hence," replied Lornán, unable to draw her eyes away from the vision of her child chasing butterflies through the flower beds… such simple things she had so longed to see for these past lonely months.

"And you think that you can trust this woman?" exclaimed the priestess sternly, "She who stole the King from you in the first place!"

"Her betrothal to Uther was not her own devising," she replied wearily.

"That is not what you said in your correspondence…"

"I said many things in Cornwall that were not true to my heart," snapped Lornán angrily, "I was near mad with the loss of my child… much has changed since then."

"Including your faculties of reason it would seem," retorted Nimueh, "Mark my words… Ygraine may seem to be your friend today but she _will_ betray you at some point, you can be sure of it…"


	17. Hidden Enemies

_**17. Hidden Enemies**_

"This is ridiculous!" cried Uther in despair, throwing down his quill in disgust, "does no one have _good_ news to report?"

Two foot soldiers stood uneasily before the King, both shifting uncomfortably from one weary leg to the other. It had been a hard five days journey from the outposts of the rebellion to convey the latest battle reports and each had dreaded this moment the entire way.

"Fine!" shouted Uther, throwing his hands up in frustration, "If that is all – you may report to your barracks."

With a great sigh, the King sank bank into his chair, his tired eyes roving across the map of his Kingdom that lay on the broad table before him. The last few days had brought nothing but disastrous accounts of defeat upon bloody defeat and the areas marked off as peaceful land, loyal to Camelot, was fast shrinking.

"Well men?" he asked at last, his voice heavy and despondent, "You are King's council are you not? I pray you – council your King."

"If I may sire," began Gorlois tentatively, "I believe I have discovered the reason for the continued disputes with the villages in the northern territories."

"Go on," replied Uther gruffly.

"My man informs me that the people still believe their demands are not being met and are continuing to refuse to allow goods to be transported out from their farms."

"What demands?"

"To be granted safe passage and protection from the Saxon insurgence and also a reduction to the current levy of taxes."

"Reduction in taxes? That is absurd!" barked the King, "At this rate I'll be paying my own subjects for the privilege of living in my kingdom!"

"That's just it Sire," continued Gorlois, leaning forward over the council table urgently, "You _have_ lowered the taxes and the Saxons _have_ been pushed back to the northern boundaries yet still a malevolent force is stirring up animosity among them."

"What are you saying?" demanded Caradoc angrily, "My men have been liaising with those people for weeks – are you accusing us of-"

"I accuse you of nothing Sir Caradoc," interjected Gorlois impatiently, "I believe simply that we have a hidden enemy amongst our ranks, I did not say that enemy was you."

Caradoc folded his arms defensively across his broad chest, dark eyes glowering unhappily at the Duke.

"Regardless of the source of these so called lies, what proof do you have of their existence?" asked Abraith, setting his wine goblet down slowly and pushing the fingertips of both hands together thoughtfully as he spoke.

"If I had proof sir, the culprit would be kneeling before us now!" replied Gorlois sarcastically.

"Maybe Hectimere has something to hide," said Sir Bors, fixing his fellow knight with a wary glare, "Your last mission to the regions of Thanet was as equally wrought with failure as your time spent in the southlands."

"How dare you!" spat Hectimere furiously, "My men are impeccably loyal to the King, I cannot help it if those ingrates do not listen to reason!"

"Come now Sir Hectimere," interjected Abraith smoothly, "You have been a valued member of this court for many years now… let us not forget the newest member of our group?"

All eyes turned accusingly to Gorlois who stared round at his peers in surprise, "What does my length of service in King's council matter? My loyalty is no less resolute."

"It seems to me that these rebellions only took a real hold on our noble land… when you returned from Cornwall Gorlois," explained the Court Sorcerer with relish.

"Enough!" cried Uther in exasperation, "Anyone would think my council had been overrun with children the way you are all behaving!"

"I merely point out sire that-"

"I said _enough!_" repeated the disgruntled sovereign, "We cannot fight amongst ourselves in this fashion, it will lead only to further dissent. We _must_ be a united front against our enemies, now more so than ever before."

The knights, advisors and noblemen that filled the room looked at the King expectantly as he paced back and forth, a troubled frown on his royal brow. Suddenly, Uther clapped his hands together loudly and turned to face his council, "I have it," he stated earnestly, "Come, all of you, gather round the table, side by side," he instructed, pushing those next to him in line.

"Sire I don't see how-"

"Abraith, please just do as I ask," Uther interjected, "as close as you can, right round the table, that's good."

As the last member of the council stepped into place - a tight, misshapen ring of men took form and each turned to the King in bewilderment.

"Now look around you, each and every man," began the King, his eyes gleaming brightly, "This is how we must be, an unbroken circle of trust and honour, a never ending line of unity and solidarity," he stared intently at one face after another around the body of councillors, "We are comrades," he continued, "fellow knights and trusted noblemen of Camelot; together we _will_ be able to break the back of the rebellion because I know that this rulership will bring the greatest prosperity and peace to this land and _this _is what the people deserve."

"Here, here!" called out Sir William raising his ancient fist shakily into the air.

"Thank you William, we follow your lead," said Uther, inclining his head toward the aged advisor, "Each man must raise his right hand to swear an oath to follow this new code of unity… anyone who does not wish it may leave the council chamber at once."

One by one each of the council members raised their hands until the entire body of men held their arms aloft in a perfect ring of salutes.

"For Camelot… and Albion," intoned the King solemnly, his oath being repeated in faultless synchronicity by the fifteen men that surrounded him, their combined voices echoing off the walls of the confined space. A wide smile spread across Uther's face and he clapped Abraith heartily on the back as the council members took their seats once more. "Now – to the matter at hand," he stated bluntly, "Let us deal in facts Gentlemen, where do we stand now, I want the broad picture."

"Most of the rebellions are breaking into distinct groups," began Sir Ector, "Some declaring outright war with Camelot, the rest wishing independence from your sovereignty."

"And who are the leaders of these groups?"

"Cendred has amassed a vast army my Lord," said Caradoc, gesturing to the area of land he currently occupied on the map.

"Odin also leads the rebellions in Thanet," Hectimere informed him in a low voice.

"Alined and Olaf conspire together in the west," confirmed Bors.

"Others, the likes of Bayard, Uriens and Hoel, all demand rulership of their own provinces separate to Camelot but are willing to do so peacefully," added Gorlois.

"Is Albion a dead carcass to be carved up among these vultures?" cried Uther in shock.

"I have also had report sire that each group commands his own battalion of warlocks," said the Duke grimly, "More and more of these skirmishes are being fought and won by supernatural means."

"Abraith, what say you of this?" demanded Uther, his fingers curling into angry fists.

"It is true sire; we are recruiting more men from the Druid settlements to fortify our own armies."

"Very well," replied the King, wearily massaging his temples, "We must be vigilant men and pull together as a group in the spirit of unity. If, as Gorlois says, there _are_ spies among us we cannot afford to be complacent, we are the leaders of this nation and we must not fail it now," sucking in a resolute breath, Uther surveyed the map of his kingdom once more, "We must _not _fail…"

* * *

_**A/N – While doing a bit of research on the round table I found several references that stated that Uther was responsible for founding the Order of the Round Table. The table was then given to Arthur when he became King so I thought that it would be interesting to add this little detail in. Obviously, the ideals of the round table may fall to the wayside somewhat as we continue on our journey toward the Uther we know and love in Merlin…**_


	18. Miracle of Life

_**18. Miracle of Life**_

"Mother!" cried Morgause in delight as she skipped about on the plush grass, "See what I can do!"

Lornán and Ygraine sat with their backs to the broad trunk of an enormous tree in the gardens of the monastery, enjoying its plentiful shade, "I am watching my darling girl," laughed the Duchess affectionately, her proud face gleaming indulgently.

The young child ran up to her mother and placed a small stone in the palm of her hand, "Hold it up high," she commanded solemnly as her little legs scurried back over the grass so that she sat cross legged, facing the two women, twenty or so paces away.

Screwing up her face in concentration, Morgause stared hard at the stone, her eyes suddenly glowing a deep golden colour as the pebble twitched slightly on Lornán's outstretched palm, before rising slowly into the air. Ygraine watched on in fascination as the little stone crossed the distance between them, finally being plucked out of the air by the triumphant child and waved merrily aloft for all to see.

"Well done Morgause!" enthused Lornán, clapping her hands together delightedly, "How you have been practicing!"

"Ingrid has been giving me extra lessons," said the child, beaming happily at her mother.

"Truly, that is most remarkable!" breathed Ygraine in awe, "Such command of the elements at so young an age."

"I am five whole years old Aunt Ygraine!" exclaimed Morgause indignantly.

"Quite right," laughed the Duchess, "You are positively ancient – now, come and sit with me for a moment."

"Do you have a gift for me?" the child squealed, jumping into her mother's lap.

Smiling, the raven haired woman pushed the wayward tangle of golden curls out of her daughter's eyes, drinking in her closeness for a moment, "I do not have one gift for you… but two."

Morgause's eyes lit up in delight as she fidgeted impatiently, her hands clutched together tightly between her knees. With great reverence, Lornán removed the silver bracelet that hung from her right wrist and carefully took her daughters arm and slipped it on to her wrist instead.

"It's beautiful," whispered the girl, running her fingers gently over the silver markings, "What do these symbols mean?"

"One day my love you will grow to fit that bracelet… and on that day I will tell you all you wish to know," promised her mother earnestly.

"What of my second gift?" asked Morgause, peering around as if to spy the mystery present.

"Your second gift you must be patient for," the Duchess replied with a knowing smile, "for it is not yet ready to be seen."

"What do you mean?" questioned the young child quizzically, inclining her head in confusion.

Slowly, Lornán spread her fingers out over her belly, "You are to have a little sister."

A great look of joy flooded Morgause's face and she placed her little hands over her mother's in awe, "Is she to come and live with me at the monastery?" she whispered.

The smile on Lornán's face faltered slightly and she patted her child gently on the cheek, "I think not my love… but we shall come and see you as often as we can and you can teach her how to command the elements as well as you," she said soothingly, drawing her daughter into a warm embrace, "Now, our time is up I fear… would you run and fetch Nimueh so that we may bid her farewell?"

"How do you know it will be a girl?" asked Ygraine quietly as they watched Morgause obediently skip across the grass to fetch her guardian.

"Just as I knew Morgause to be a girl… it is the same with this child," she replied, unable to tear her eyes away from her daughter's retreating back, "I cannot explain it."

"Does it…what is it like?"

"Like?" she asked, looking in confusion at her Queen.

"The birth, what is it like?"

"Why do you ask?" questioned the Duchess, searching Ygraine's face in puzzlement. The Queen did not answer, dropping her eyes quickly to her hands which tore fervently at a plucked flower head. Sudden realisation dawned in Lornán's eyes and she grasped excitedly at the Queen, "Do you mean… are _you_ with child?"

A slow smile spread across Ygraine's features, her eyes glowing brightly, "It is early," she confirmed with a nod, "But Gaius confirmed it this morning."

Lornán clapped her hands together in delight, "This is truly the most wonderful news!" she cried happily, "We shall be mother's together!"

Caught up in the intoxicating excitement of the Duchess, Ygraine laughed merrily as they brushed the grass from their gowns and made their way toward the stone walls of the monastery. It seemed that the sun had never shone brighter, nor had the grass looked greener to the two women as they walked arm in arm, the journey of motherhood lying invitingly before them…


	19. Drunken Fool

_**19. Drunken Fool**_

King Uther was in a foul mood. For three long weeks he had looked forward to this hunting trip with a few of his closest Knights. Time and again they had had to postpone due to urgent matters of state in the ongoing battle against rebellions but now, finally, the opportunity had arisen and the small band of men had departed.

All had been going so well… until the first case of the sickness made itself known. Luckily, Uther himself had been spared from the violent effects of the mysterious illness but the projectile vomiting and feverish sweats had decimated their little camp in a matter of hours and they had been forced to return to the castle for urgent medical care.

Uther shivered in disgust as he stormed along the corridor; it was as if the awful, fetid stench of rotting stomach juices was permanently lodged inside his nostrils. All he longed for now was a long hot bath to scrub away the residues of bile and rabbit stew that had been spattered across his person.

From the opposite end of the corridor as he approached his chambers, he could hear noises emanating from behind the solid wooden doors. The conspicuous lack of guard posted outside pricked at his senses and immediately he was alert to the possibility of an intruder.

Slowly drawing his sword, Uther curled his fingers around the stout iron handle, readying himself to attack. It was with some surprise that he registered the muffled sound of a _female_ voice and instantly he flung open the door, charging into the room with his blade held aloft.

The sight that confronted him was not anything that he had expected and his sword arm fell heavily to his side in shock. There, in the centre of the room stood the very dishevelled form of Torquil, pressed heavily up against a poor unfortunate kitchen girl who was struggling most violently against his advances. As the King burst into the room, Torquil staggered backward in surprise, revealing his most prominent state of arousal and the loosened chords of his britches that he had opened to allow himself better access to the unlucky girl before him.

"What the devil is the meaning of this outrage!" seethed the King, his eyes throwing fiery missiles at his inebriated servant.

Torquil staggered back further still, unsteadily supporting himself on the table as the girl tugged the front of her torn bodice closed and fled from his side, trembling uncontrollably in the corner of the room. The young manservant seemed unsure of what action was best to take and so made vague gestures while gaping at the King like a fish in the final death throws of its sorry life.

Visibly shaking with rage, Uther took two purposeful steps forward and caught Torquil but the scruff of his neck, shaking him angrily until his bones rattled, "How _dare_ you abuse your position in this way!" he spat, hurling the boy against the wall where his unsteady legs crumbled beneath him and he sank to the floor in an untidy heap. "Not only are you drunk on duty, you have the gall to molest a member of my staff in my _own bedchambers!"_ he yelled, the vein on his temple bulging out in an alarming manner.

The girl in the corner stifled a strangled sob as Uther's tirade ended and she clamped her hand over her mouth, lest she draw further attention to herself. Seeing her distress Uther forced himself to moderate his rage and quickly pulled a light cloak from his armoire and draped it carefully around her shoulders.

"Are you hurt child?" he asked quietly, his eyes briefly scanning her quaking form for signs of serious damage.

"No sire," she whispered in reply, her large hazel eyes wide with shock.

"Good," he replied, shooting a heated look in Torquil's direction, "Then why don't you step through to my antechambers? I will deal with this scoundrel and then summon someone to attend to you."

Nodding through her tears, the kitchen maid scurried hastily from the room in relief. Striding swiftly across the room, Uther looked up and down the corridor, cursing once again the apparent lack of guard.

"Why is there no sentry posted at my door?" demanding Uther, kicking angrily at Torquil where he lay at his feet.

"I gave them an important mission," he drawled, tapping the side of his nose theatrically.

"More important than manning their own station?" he spluttered incredulously.

"I can be quite persuasive," chuckled Torquil, giggling inanely to himself despite his predicament and apparently forgetting his initial fear.

"What a pity those skills cannot help you now," replied Uther sarcastically as he threw open one of the lattice windows and peered down into the courtyard below. "_Guards!" _he shouted loudly, curling his lip in grim satisfaction to see several men jump immediately at the sound of his voice and sprint hurriedly towards his chambers.

"Your actions go against every moral and chivalric code that this land upholds," continued Uther, his eyes blazing fervently, "As such you shall be hereby stripped of your title as Kings Man and spend three days in the stocks."

"Stocks?" repeated Torquil disbelievingly, his bleary eyes struggling to focus on the shape of the King.

"Count yourself lucky, my first instinct was the dungeons."

"You cannot…" he slurred, his face a picture of indignity, "Abraith would not allow it."

"What exactly is it to do with him?" seethed the King, his patience running thin.

A troubled look spread slowly across Torquil's face, his drink addled mind gradually catching up to his mouth as he realised he had said too much. A thin sheen of sweat appeared upon his brow and he clamped his lips tight shut, glaring mutinously at Uther.

"Answer me you clotpole!" spat the King in frustration, "Why would Abraith not _allow_ you to be…" Uther's words trailed away to nothing as the first inklings of a dark and sinister plot nudged their way into his consciousness, "Abraith recommended your appointment," he breathed quietly, "No… he _insisted _upon it… tell me Torquil – why would he do that?"

Torquil said nothing; his blood-red eyes staring darkly back at him as the first of the guards hurried breathlessly into the room. Ignoring their arrival, the King continued to fix his ex-manservant with a look of pure loathing.

"You were there till the very end," he continued, not bothering to wait for a reply, "By my Brother's side, Abraith himself said as much."

Still Torquil kept his mouth firmly pressed into a tight and resolute line of silence, his present situation acting as a remarkable means of sobering the young fool up.

"What did you _do?_" seethed the King through tightly clenched teeth, his nostrils flaring in anger and his voice dangerously low.

Shaking his head slowly, Torquil remained resolutely mute in defiance of his sovereign's questions. Turning abruptly on his heel, Uther marched angrily out of the room, "Take him to the dungeons," he barked as he went, "Instruct the gaoler to stoke the fires; we shall rip the information out of him."

Finally Torquil found his voice, screaming obscenities at the guards as they wrestled him into their custody. Looking back over his shoulder, Uther paused briefly in his departure, raising his voice over the din to utter one last command; "_And," _he shouted, his eyes burning dangerously in the fading light,_ "bring me Abraith!_"


	20. Effluvium

_**20. Effluvium**_

_**A/N Quick word of warning – this chapter contains scenes of torture… **_

"How is the sickness this morning my love?" asked Uther as he strode across the room toward his wife, placing a chaste kiss upon her head where she lay in her plush bed in the private chambers that adjoined the King's own rooms.

"Much better today, thank you," Ygraine replied, lacing her hands lovingly in his as he sat by her on the bed, "Gaius has given me an infusion of hot lemon and ginger root to settle my stomach and it does seem finally to be easing."

"I'm glad," he said seriously, pushing her hair gently back from her face and placing one hand gently on her growing belly, "I feared for a time that you were suffering from the same sickness that ailed my Brother."

"It is quite normal Uther," laughed the Queen, "I suffer no more so than any other woman in Camelot carrying a child; I am simply to rest and take a little liver to keep up my strength."

"Then I shall leave you in peace my dear," Uther replied with a smile, fastening on his leather gloves as he rose from the bed.

"Urgent matters to attend to my Lord?" asked Ygraine through half closed eyes, her head sinking back onto her pillows.

"Nothing for you to concern yourself with," he answered softly, a look of regret passing over his eyes that he could not stay with her and shun his duties.

"Uther," she said suddenly, her voice causing him to stop in his tracts and look at his wife quizzically, "You are a good man and a fine King my love… the day will come when all of Albion will once again be united behind you."

The King sighed heavily, a look of sadness weighing heavily across his brow as he forced a smile for her, "Thank you my Queen," he replied gruffly as he exited the room and strode quickly down the long corridor and out of the royal quarters.

With long, determined steps, Uther made his way toward the dungeons, his skin turning to goose-flesh as he began his decent into the belly of Camelot. As he followed the winding steps he shook his head angrily to clear his mind of all thoughts but the task at hand and steel his heart to follow through with what he knew must be done. The feel of his wife's touch lingered on his skin and he raked his hands along the rough-hewn stone, welcoming the pain it brought. He could not be that man right now; Uther the loving husband and doting father-to-be… no, now he had to be Uther the King, unwavering and stoic in the face of treachery.

The further into the depths of the castle that he went, the clearer the sounds were that echoed off the walls around him, shrieks of agony and cries of abject terror mingled with the stench of fear, sweat and burning flesh. Passing two sets of guards, each saluting smartly to him, he finally reached the foot of the stairway and stepped into the dungeon's murky antechamber.

"Rathborne!" he hollered loudly into the dim room, "Where are you man?"

The strangled cries that had been floating through the air stopped abruptly and hurried footsteps shuffled hastily in his direction as the master gaoler rushed to answer his King's call.

"Your Majesty," he drawled obsequiously, executing an overly effected bow as he approached his sovereign, "You are just in time; he was tougher to break than we first anticipated but I believe we are almost there."

"He has revealed nothing so far?" demanded Uther impatiently as they marched together in the direction of the cells, Rathborne moving to lead the way.

"No Sire, he is as stubborn as an old goat - but mark my words, he will soon be singing from the rafters."

The smell of burning flesh grew stronger as the two men entered a large cell at the back of the dungeons. There, strapped tightly to a wooden frame was Torquil, now considerably worse for wear than he had been the previous day. The muscles in his arms strained painfully against their bindings, thin lines of blood running in rivulets down the contours of his flesh. A dark purple bruise spread across the left side of his face and a deep split in his lip was seeping blood and spittle across his quivering chin.

A small fire burned brightly in front of the hapless servant, throwing long and eerie shadows off the walls. Torquil's chest and stomach bore the marks of hours of torture, deep burns bubbling angrily along the length of his charred flesh. Two dungeon guards stood silently either side of the wooden frame, poised to continue the interrogation.

"My Liege," croaked Torquil in mock greeting, his voice sounding more weary than defiant as he spat a wad of blood-mingled saliva onto the dirt floor of the cell.

"So you still will not speak, you worthless gutter-snipe," growled the King furiously. Torquil made no reply, the pain of his ordeal glinting sharply in his eyes as he regarded Uther warily. "Continue with your work gaoler," commanded Uther quietly, not taking his eyes from the miserable wretch before him.

Stepping forward confidently, Rathborne nodding to the two guards on either side of the frame and with one swift move the entire apparatus was tipped forward on weighted hinges, lowering Torquil's already seared torso into the eagerly waiting tongues of fire.

An agonising howl of pain ripped itself from the young servant's throat, his body writhing uselessly within its confines. With a further nod from Rathborne the frame was lifted back upright and he was free from the flames once more, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he fought to force more air into his burning lungs.

"Come my boy," crooned Rathborne soothingly, bringing his face in close to Torquil's, "All those evil plots and plans, those foul and fetid secrets that are eating up your soul… let them out lad, tell old Rathborne and you shall be free of this mistress of fire… what say you?"

Hot tears of fear and hysteria squeezed their way from Torquil's eyes, thick bubbles of mucus blowing wetly at his mouth and nose as he struggled to bring himself back in control of his faculties, unable to voice any response except the exhausted shake of his battered head.

"We know you had a part in murdering the late King," pressed Uther, his voice resonating off the walls of the confined cell, "The fact that Abraith has also fled the castle proves his guilt as the mastermind of your enterprise but I must know _why_," he demanded emphatically, "Tell me man, what was the purpose of his death?"

"I will not…I will not…" mumbled the servant pitifully, his lips pulled back into a miserable grimace.

"Your master has deserted you boy!" cried Rathborne mockingly, "left you to answer for his crimes… what purpose does your stubbornness hold now?"

Stepping closer, Uther pushed his question again, his determination for answers overcoming his sense of compassion, "What I cannot fathom is what Abraith stood to gain, what difference does it make to him if I am King, or Aurelius?"

Torquil said nothing, his eyes opening slowly and staring vengefully at Uther.

"Lower him again," said Rathborne gruffly, his jowl shaking angrily as we waved his arms at the guards.

"Wait," cried Uther suddenly, realisation dawning slowly upon him, "He gained nothing!"

"Sire?" asked the gaoler, markedly irritated at his order being counter-commanded.

Bringing his face in line with Torquil's, the King addressed him directly, "Abraith gains nothing with me as King… his plot is not yet complete is it? How long did he plan to wait before having me murdered also and seizing the crown for himself?"

"Not just you!" crowed the prisoner hysterically, the sustained levels of torture finally breaking his resolve, "Your pretty Queen too!"

Fury rose like bile in Uther's throat and he bit down hard to keep his anger in check, his fists clenching together tightly as he took a deep calming breath, "So he is just another usurper… just like Vortigern."

"Not like Vortigern, _nothing_ like Vortigern!" shrieked Torquil angrily, "He was a fool who could not control his own bowels, never mind a Kingship!"

"He was a false King… Abraith would be no different," spat Uther in disgust.

"He would be the greatest king Albion ever knew!" insisted Torquil fervently, his lips curling into a crazed sneer, "Imagine it… a _Sorcerer King_, nothing could stand in his way and all would bend their knee to pledge allegiance to his rule," adoration dripped heavily from the young servant's lips as he spoke, his eyes peering wistfully into the corners of his mind, "His authority would be unmatched, it would spread until all the Kingdoms of the known world would unite together!"

"You are wrong," rejoined the King categorically, "If there is one thing I am beginning to learn about sorcery, it is that it is a dangerous force that easily corrupts the hearts of those that wield it."

"I will be vindicated, I will be vindicated," babbled Torquil, his eyes rolling crazily back in his head.

"You sir, are a traitor!" cried the King angrily, "Abraith's plot will fail but you shall not live to see it for tomorrow you will be executed."

"He will come, you will see… he will not forsake me here," insisted Torquil, laughing madly to himself.

"One more thing," added Uther dryly, obviously appalled at the traitor's failing grip on reality, "Are there any others?"

"You can't catch me, you can't catch me," he chanted hysterically, throwing back his head in demented glee.

Extracting a burning length of wood from the raging fire in front of him, Uther moved quickly forward, thrusting the wood at Torquil's gut. An immediate and excruciating pain ripped through Torquil and he screamed a string of expletives over the sizzling sound of his flesh.

"There are none!" He howled pitifully, his head hanging forward in exhaustion, "None of your precious Knights would be trusted by Abraith to keep such a secret."

Satisfied, Uther turned and strode briskly toward the exit, "Take him down and ready him for his execution tomorrow," he ordered Rathborne who scampered along in his wake.

"You have no further use for him sire?" he asked regretfully.

"No gaoler," he said bluntly, "I have the puppet… what I need is the puppet master."

"You're going to find Abraith?"

"Yes," replied Uther grimly, "Unless he finds me first."


	21. A Parting Gift

_**21. A Parting Gift**_

"They cannot be more than a few hours ride from here Sire," said Gorlois grimly from where he squatted before an abandoned fire, his hands testing the heat emanating from the spent logs.

Uther jumped down from his horse and strode quickly over to his side, scanning the horizon critically as he went, "Then we must water the horses quickly and be on our way," he replied, impatiently gesturing for the remainder of the riding party to dismount and tend to their animals.

The small band of men had ridden for three long days, weaving their way throughout the district of Camelot on the trail left behind by Abraith and his entourage of Druid followers. It had taken the combined skill of their best trackers to locate the path the sorcerer had taken but eventually they had snaked their way through the forests of the upper provinces and now they were finally closing in. The proximity of their quarry stirred the men from their exhaustion and spurred them on to activity. Before long they were on their way again, striking out from the camp and on into the wilds of the forest undergrowth.

The sun peered out timorously from behind a thin layer of cloud, casting eerie shadows across the ground while a bitter wind whipped its way through the trees. As the men rode deeper into the forest an unnatural darkness fell around them and one by one their horses slowed to a tentative trot. Eight pairs of eyes flittered from one sudden movement in the shadows to another, paranoia seeing enemy forces everywhere.

Uther raised his right arm, his hand clenched into a fist to signal his men to halt. The path before him lay dark and uninviting and his horse whinnied loudly, throwing back its head in fright. Dismounting quickly, Uther moved cautiously along the path, the hairs on his neck rising with each step as he strained his ears against the oppressive gloom. Gradually, Uther began to make out a low rumble echoing amongst the trees and crouching low on the ground he watched as the stones and loose dirt began to jump and move with the reverberations. The noise grew louder and louder until a great quaking rocked the Earth, the sounds of roots ripping from the ground blasting all around them as whole trees were felled.

Bors and Gorlois were thrown from their horses, both petrified animals bolting away in terror leaving the riders on their backs in the dirt. Uther's own horse reared up onto it's hindquarters in frights before following the path of the first two horses out of the clearing. Those that managed to keep their mounts struggled to control the poor creatures and the whole party was thrown into confusion.

From the midst of this chaos a cloaked figure appeared silently from the shadows and stretched out both his hands before him. Immediately the ground became still and an eerie quite fell on the small band of men, the remaining horse's baleful snickering being the only sound to break the silence.

"Abraith," spat Uther venomously, his eyes boring intently into the man in front of him, "your theatrics do not intimidate me."

"You always were a naïve young fool Uther," smiled the sorcerer indulgently, flicking his hand deftly at the group of Knights that were attempting to rally around their King, sending each and every one stumbling to the ground.

"Enough of your sorcery wizard, pick up your sword and fight me like a man!" commanded the King heatedly, levelling his own sword at the chest of his erstwhile advisor.

Abraith let out a loud and hearty bark of laughter, smiling patronisingly at him, "Uther, Uther, Uther… you cannot fight something that has _always_ been stronger than you," he mocked, gesturing arrogantly at himself.

"I will fight you by any means necessary," fumed the King in return, "and my Brother's life shall be _avenged!"_

"Ah yes…poor _dear_ Aurelius," rejoined the Druid with mock sadness, shaking his head in exaggerated regret, "cut down so cruelly in his prime…"

Boiling with rage, Uther lunged at Abraith, slashing his sword through the air fiercely. Without so much as batting an eyelid, the sorcerer's eyes burned a fleeting shade of gold and the King was picked up easily into the air and thrown back against the broad trunk of a tree, his body landing in a broken pile at its base. To Uther, it felt as if he had been struck by a rampaging bull and as he hit the tree he felt the dull snap of a rib give way inside him.

"You really should be careful where you point that thing my Lord," counselled Abraith lightly as he stood over Uther's prone form, "You could do yourself some serious harm."

Taking a deep, ragged breath, Uther held his arm protectively over his broken rib, desperately trying to push down the pain and regain his composure as he writhed pitifully in the dirt. With every ounce of his determination he pulled himself into a sitting position and fixed Abraith with a long, cold look of pure hatred.

"How did you do it?" he wheezed at last, wincing as he tested the severity of his wounds.

"Do what my Lord?" asked the sorcerer quizzically, his eyebrows raised in a parody of innocence.

"Do not trifle with me Abraith!" shouted Uther impatiently.

"On the contrary, I'm afraid you must be more specific – you see I have been a very busy fellow of late, do you mean; how did I do away with the late King… or how have I undermined _your _authority to the point of near national collapse?" he replied, a smug smile playing on his lips.

"How did you kill my brother?" hissed Uther fiercely through clenched teeth.

"It was surprisingly easier than I anticipated," he began, as if regaling them with some fire-side story, "All it took was a simple mixture of the Solanum plant mixed with hemlock, heavily diluted of course, and dispensed slowly over the course of many months until-"

"Enough_,"_ cried the King angrily, dragging himself to his feet as he spoke, "I simply want to know _how_ this was possible when Gaius was monitoring the administration of _all_ my brother's food and drink?"

"Uther, you insult me!" exclaimed Abraith indignantly, "Open you're mind to the power of magic and you will see there are any number of ways that this could be accomplished…"

As he spoke, he raised his right hand and on command a small vial rose from inside his cloak. The vial hovered for a second before gliding effortlessly through the air, coming to a stop a few inches from Caradoc's face where he sat pinned to the ground. Abraith then raised his left hand into the air and closed his fingers slowly, miming the act of choking a man.

Suddenly, Caradoc's eyes bulged out from his head and he made a strange gurgling sound, his hands flying to his neck in fear. As he fought for breath his mouth gaped open wildly and the vial began to tip above his head.

"_Stop!" _shouted Uther in panic, holding both his hands up, palms out as if to ward off Abraith's magic, "There is no need for this!"

Instantly, Abraith dropped both his hands and in perfect synchrony, the small vial also dropped harmlessly to the floor and his hold on the poor Knight was released. Caradoc sagged thankfully back, water streaming from his eyes as he gulped down huge lungfulls of air, his broad shoulder shaking visibly with the effort of regaining his composure.

"A simple demonstration my Lord," replied Abraith with an evil grin.

"I'm sure Alwyn is _most_ proud," said Uther sarcastically, "as he watches your actions from Avalon."

"Alwyn was a fool who gave his life for a pathetic man," snapped the sorcerer in anger, "He should have joined with Mabon - not destroyed such a powerful Druid as he."

Uther watched the fire burn in Abraith's eyes, "Has it always been this way," he asked at last, his voice bearing a hint of disbelief, "even back then?"

"I have watched the rise and fall of countless _petty_ men like you Uther," shot back Abraith, "Not one was worthy to wear a crown nor powerful enough to match even a child of the Druids."

"Then why did you run?" demanded the King his eyes hard as steel, "If you are so powerful, why did you not kill me long ago - why do you not kill me now where I stand?"

The sorcerer's lips pulled back into a derisive sneer, "You must know it is not as simple as that," he remonstrated, shaking his head in despair at Uther's apparent stupidity, "The people of this land may be ignorant vermin, but they _must_ support my rule or a Kingship is for nothing, Vortigern is a testament to that. These peasants you call subjects crave tradition and order… I cannot simply seize the crown."

"How fortunate for me," mumbled the King in disdain.

"I am a patient man Uther," he continued, "The rebellions will continue until you are overwhelmed and I will step triumphantly into your shoes."

"Then you had better be quick," Uther rejoined, a glint of smug pride in his eye, "For before long there will be a brood of Pendragons standing in your way, old man."

A dark look of satisfaction settled over Abraith's features as he smiled wolfishly at the King, "I beg to differ, my liege," he replied, articulating each word with relish.

A bitter chill washed over Uther as the threat of Abraith's words punched hard into his gut and his jaw slackened unconsciously in fear, "What do you… no…you cannot… you _would_ not…!" he stuttered, pointing at him accusingly.

"Hurry home Uther, for I have left a parting gift for your wife - we shall talk more anon I am sure," said Abraith lightly, turning quickly from them before disappearing into the shadows as suddenly as he had arrived.

Uther stood motionless in the clearing, his eyes wide with shock, all colour completely drained from his face as he stared into the darkness after the sorcerer.

"Sire," said Gorlois in a low tone, able to feel his feet for the first time since Abraith's appearance and moving immediately to place a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder.

Uther said nothing, simply turned and ran toward Hectimere who had somehow kept hold of his horse throughout the encounter. Shoving passed the young Knight; Uther vaulted quickly into the saddle and drove his heels urgently into the horse's flanks, spurring it hurriedly into a fast gallop.

Leaving the Knights behind to secure the rest of the horses, the King made a bee-line for Camelot, no longer tied to the need to follow Abraith's winding trail. On and on he rode, ignoring his own thirst and hunger and driving the poor horse beneath him to the brink of its endurance.

As the sun began to sink behind the hills, Uther at last caught site of the high-reaching turrets of Camelot and urged the horse those last few miles, not once slowing his pace. Tired and exhausted, they clattered noisily through the castle gates, across the market square and right up to the stone steps, Uther dismounting in one fluid motion and thrusting the reigns at the first guard he saw as he sprinted into the castle itself.

Tearing headlong down the corridor, Uther came up short as he approached Ygraine's private chambers and saw Gaius exit the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

"Gaius!" he called breathlessly, gripping his arm firmly as he ran up to him, "How is Ygraine? Is the baby well? …Gaius?"

The look that haunted the older physician's face painted a dark and vivid picture, one that pierced a knife to his very soul.

Pushing slowly passed the physician; Uther opened the chamber doors and took in the pale and wretched sight of his poor broken wife lying pitifully upon her pillows. Gone was the healthy glow of her cheeks and the smile in her eyes, replaced instead by the empty look of despair employed solely by a mother who knows the pain of losing a child.


	22. With Great Brightness Comes Darkness

_**22. With Great Brightness comes Darkness**_

"Ygraine? Are you alright?" asked Lornán quietly, placing her hand gently on the Queen's arm.

Ygraine sat with her hands folded in her lap, resting on the forgotten book that she had been reading to her. She had been staring blankly at the open pages for some minutes and now she looked up in surprise, confused to find herself still sat by the bedside of the Duchess.

"Forgive me," she said with a resigned smile, "It appears I am distracted today my dear."

"Please don't concern yourself;" replied the Duchess, squeezing her arm reassuringly, "Is there something troubling you?"

Ygraine's said nothing, her eyes roving guiltily over Lornán's swollen belly as her hands played absentmindedly with the hem of her sleeve. Lornán sighed sympathetically as she took in the direction of the Queen's furtive gaze and placed one hand apologetically on her stomach.

"I'm so sorry Ygraine… if it is too hard for you to-"

"No, no of course not," interrupted the Queen hurriedly, "I'm sorry… I shouldn't wallow in my own self-pity."

"Don't be absurd, it has not yet been four months, you are bound to find it hard," said Lornán reassuringly, "Has Gaius found anything close to a remedy yet?"

"Nothing," said Ygraine in frustration, throwing her head back in her chair dejectedly, "He pours through thousands of manuscripts, subjects me to more and more tests and degrading examinations and _still_ cannot accomplish something that hundreds of peasant woman manage every day."

"These things take time to-"

"I do not _have _time!" bewailed Ygraine, throwing up her arms in despair, "Uther must have an heir and if I cannot provide him with it he is sure to tire of me."

"Nonsense," chided the Duchess, "Uther would love you even if you could never bear him a son."

"You do not know that… maybe now he loves me but… who is to say that will not change when the council begins to pressure him."

The truth of these words, evident by Lornán's own troubled past, hung heavily in the air.

"Do you think that a remedy to counter Abraith's magic _is_ possible?" asked Lornán tentatively.

"At this stage I'm beginning to lose hope," she replied, shaking her head suddenly in agitation, "But enough of my woes, I have been neglecting you Lornán, are you comfortable? Can I summon Emma to fetch you something?"

"Please do not fuss," laughed Lornán dismissively, "I am fine I assure you."

Ygraine settled down once more beside the Duchess, half-heartedly attempting to find her place in the book she had put aside, before glancing up once more, "Is it… do you feel the same with this child as you felt with Morgause?" she asked impulsively, "I mean… is there the same connection you felt?"

Lornán lifted her eyes slowly to meet Ygraine's, appearing to battle with some internal conflict as to whether or not to confide in the Queen. Making up her mind, she eventually took a deep breath and leaned in closer to her, her eyes flicking quickly from side to side as she summoned the courage to speak.

"In truth… it is not the same at all," she replied sadly, her voice barely above a whisper, "and I am greatly troubled by it."

"In what way is it different?"

"With Morgause it was as if I could _see_ her right in front of me before she was even born," she explained in a rush, her emotions spilling out of her in a torrent, "Her very nature sang out to me… "

"And now?"

"I am a seer Ygraine, I should be able to see at least _something_ of my unborn daughter but there is nothing… just darkness."

"But you could see that your child was a girl?"

"Yes…" she replied, casting her mind back, "In the beginning it was so clear, she was like a light burning inside me but now… now everything has changed and I fear what this means for my baby."

"Have you spoken with Gaius about this?"

"Oh you know Gaius, as much as he studies the medicinal enchantments he is a man of science… he simply reassures me that the baby's heart beat is strong and healthy and I should not worry so."

"In a way maybe he is right," counselled Ygraine gently, "all this fretfulness cannot be good for you _or_ your child."

Lornán reached out suddenly, grasping the Queen's hands in her own, her eyes bright with anxious, unshed tears, "What if she does not survive the birth? What if… what if the darkness I see means her death?"

"Hush now," Ygraine told her firmly, placing the palm of her hand soothingly on Lornán's cheek and wiping away her tears, "You cannot allow yourself to think like that for the sake of the baby, you will only serve to exhaust yourself further."

"But Ygraine, you don't understand, how can I-"

"I must insist my dear, you must _not_ vex yourself so," commanded the Queen decisively, pushing the raven haired woman back onto the large pillows of the bed, "Get some rest, I will stay here with you and when you awake we will go to Gaius together."

Lornán looked balefully at the Queen but did not protest further, settling down meekly onto the bed and closing her eyes with a trouble-filled sigh.

As she watched the Duchess fall into a fitful and restless slumber, Ygraine's eyes dropped inevitably back to the swell of her belly. Her hand moved instinctively to her own stomach, now flat and empty as if the child she had nurtured for those few short months had never existed at all. The crushing weight of this loss settled onto her chest once more and with a heavy sigh she rested her head back in her chair and followed Lornán into the oblivion of sleep.

Strange snippets of images haunted Ygraine's dreams; a dark figure swathed in black feathers with knives for fingernails who stole babies from their mother's wombs, a small child wandering lost and alone in a barren forest… and the recurring image of a large raven, watching her silently from a distance.

With a jolt, Ygraine was pulled forcibly from her slumber, her mind befuddled and disjointed so that when she looked upon the bed she could not take in the information as first.

"Ygraine, please, something is wrong," whispered Lornán the terror in her voice finally breaking through the Queen's sleep filled mind.

The Duchess was crouched on all fours on the bed, the covers completely discarded. Her porcelain skin was near transparent and a feverish sheen of perspiration covered her body as she clutched at her stomach in pain. Abject fear swam in the pure green pools of her eyes as she stared down at the visceral channel of dark red blood that was seeping onto the stark white sheets beneath her.

It felt to Ygraine as if the whole world were moving through treacle as she yelled for the guards to fetch Gaius immediately and dispatched a further two to track down Gorlois. Climbing onto the bed beside her, the Queen was shocked at how much blood Lornán was losing and the severity of the tremors that wracked her pallid frame as she wrapped her arms around her in an effort to support her as best she could.

With a loud bustle of activity, Gaius rushed into the room, shouting at her maidservant Emma to fetch clean water and fresh linen as he moved quickly to Lornán's side. Easing the Duchess carefully onto her back he gently pressed into her belly, eliciting an anguished cry from her as he did so. Pulling up her night clothes he pushed back his sleeves and examined her quickly, a deep furrow of concern etching into his brow.

"It appears the baby is in distress," he stated grimly, "I fear we must attempt delivery now or else lose the child… however…"

"What… is it?" panted Lornán breathlessly, her hair sticking damply to her forehead.

"If there are complications we also run the risk of endangering _your _life my Lady."

"Proceed," said Lornán firmly, not pausing for consideration.

"Lornán I must stress how-"

"I said _proceed_ Gaius," she snapped impatiently, "I absolve you from guilt… just care for the baby."

Gaius nodded briefly at this and lowered his head without a word, placing a fresh linen sheet before her and taking up a sharp blade. His hand poised and ready, he hesitated for a moment, his eyes flicking up at the Duchess apprehensively.

"_Onslǽpan," _he said in a hushed tone and immediately Lornán's eyes rolled backward in her head and she fell back onto the bed as though dead.

"What did you do?" cried Ygraine in panic as she frantically tried to waken the Duchess.

"It is a simple enchantment to induce a deep sleep your majesty," he replied gruffly, bending his head to his task once more, "I must cut into her to release the baby and have nothing to give her for the pain - but I have to hurry… it doesn't last long."

Ygraine glanced anxiously at Emma, who mirrored her own expression of trepidation perfectly.

"Come here girl, I'll need your help," commanded the aging physician categorically, "When I say so, massage the belly in slow, downward strokes… your Majesty - I'm afraid I will need you also to take hold of the baby as it is delivered."

In a daze the Queen moved into position, watching as if through a fog as Gaius quickly cut into the walls of Lornán's flesh and inserted a long rounded pair of forceps. With a nod to Emma to begin her manipulation of the belly, Gaius gently moved the child's head into position before carefully coaxing the tiny infant out into the world.

Stepping forward, Ygraine took the child from Gaius' hands as he cut through the umbilical chord, crying out in dismay to see the bluish tinge to its skin.

"It is a girl, but she is not breathing," stated Gaius quickly as he turned to attend to Lornán once more, "clear any mucus from her mouth then hold her face down on your palm and strike her firmly on the back – don't be afraid."

Her hands shaking with adrenalin; Ygraine followed the Physician's instructions to the letter and was rewarded with the sound of the child's first plaintive cry struggling out from her tiny lungs.

Drying her off and wrapping her snugly in the fresh linen, Ygraine carried the child across to the bed, aware that the Duchess was beginning to stir, "Lornán look, she's a girl – you were right, you have a daughter!"

Through heavy lidded eyes, Lornán stared up at her newborn, desperately struggling to drag herself out of her forced stupor, her face drawn and deathly pale. Sitting carefully beside her, Ygraine gently placed the child on the new mother's chest, supporting the baby's tiny weight for her. The Duchess gazed lovingly at her daughter, her eyes brimming over with tears as she bit her lip to choke back the excruciating pain that washed through her.

"You will always be the light… that burned… inside of me my precious one," she whispered, her voice broken and disjointed with the effort of speaking as she stroked weakly at the dark shock of hair that adorned the girls head, "I shall name you Morgana… my great brightness…"

Silently, Gaius rose from his position and stepped back from the foot of the bed, his hands and arms painted a shocking shade of red, his eyes betraying the truth they all knew, deep down…

"Gaius?" said Ygraine, looking questioningly at the older man, not wanting to admit what she saw in his eyes.

"I have done all I can my Lady… I fear though that it is not enough," he began, his voice deeply morose, "the bleeding continues inside where I cannot reach…there is just too much blood lost I… I just cannot I…"

"What do you mean you cannot – you _must!"_ cried the Queen in despair.

Lornán reach out for Ygraine's hand, her fingers intertwining limply with the Queen's, "What it means Ygraine is that I finally understand my visions..." Ygraine stared down disbelievingly at the Duchess – she could see that her eyes were full of sadness but a calming peace seemed to had fallen over her, "The darkness does not mean my child's death…" Lornán continued, "it means my own and-"

"_No!"_ objected Ygraine emphatically, "You must not talk of such things…"

The Duchess pulled the Queen's head toward her, bringing her lips closely to her ear, "Ygraine… my children will be without a mother, there is no escaping it… promise me… _promise me_ you will care for Morgana and continue to visit Morgause…"

Ygraine pulled back from the Duchess and stared intently at her face, her eyes searching miserably for some sign that the inevitable was not to be. With great reluctance, the Queen eventually nodded her head in acceptance, tears flooding her face as she choked back her grief.

"Take her," instructed Lornán weakly, her arms dropping limply to her sides, "Please Ygraine, take her from me and care for her… "

Lowering her head once more, Ygraine kissed the Duchess tenderly on the forehead, smiling reassuringly through her tears as she carefully lifted the child from her chest, "You have my word my dear…"

As the Queen stepped back from the bed, the baby Morgana ensconced safely in her arms, the sound of heavy feet echoed in the corridor. With a loud clatter, Gorlois burst into the room, glancing briefly at the child in Ygraine's arms before rushing to his wife's bedside. Dropping to his knees, the distraught knight drew Lornán into his arms, resting his head tenderly on hers.

Ygraine stood rigidly on the spot, unable to tear her eyes away from the heart wrenching scene. She watched Gorlois lovingly stroke his wife's face, whispering soothingly into her ear until finally, the Duchess was still; her body lying limply in his arms.

The anguished cry of desolation that ripped from Gorlois' throat filled the room as he clutched desperately at Lornán, gripping her tightly to his chest. His fingers roved her face, searching for some sign of life as he pressed his lips to hers, pushing his breath into her in the hope of reviving her in some way. His cries of grief startled the small child in Ygraine's arms and her tiny cries of distress mingling with her father's.

Ygraine looked on silently, tears flowing freely down her face as she stood, enveloped in the cries of husband and child. Husband morning the loss of his cherished wife, child bewailing a grief she was too young to understand… and yet would be with her always.


	23. Promises Made

_**23. Promises Made**_

Gorlois the Younger stood rigidly on the battlements of Camelot, his eyes staring out unseeing over the panorama that lay before him in the moonlight. His hands gripped the hard stone of the wall as his body was buffeted by the wind, his jaw set firmly against the onslaught of the elements.

Many hours had passed since he had first fled his wife's chambers and made his escape to this spot and in his mind he saw himself become the stone that ran beneath his fingers. His mind closed down to the thought of future joy and happiness, his stomach churning at the idea that this would ever again be possible. Instead he imagined the cold, hard, unshakeable stone seeping into his blood and settling into his bones; slowly engulfing him, changing him into a stark reminder of lost love… a bitter personification of grief and wretchedness. To Gorlois, his heart was already as hard as the stone beneath his feet, grinding inside his chest painfully. He felt at one with the gargoyles and grotesques that adorned the castle turrets, their gnarled and twisted faces somehow comforting him in his misery.

"Gorlois?" sounded Uther's voice, blown sideways by the wind as he stepped out onto the walkway. The Duke made no reply, nor indeed gave any indication that he had heard the King, his eyes fixed stoically on the dark line of trees in front of him.

Uther said nothing more, simply waving away the guards that accompanied him with a curt nod of the head before silently joining Gorlois on the battlements, his gloved hands resting lightly on the stone wall beside the Duke's.

The minutes stretched past vacantly, neither man speaking as they both dwelt on the loss of Lornán; Uther's presence enough to support his friend without words.

Eventually, as the bell tower announced the changing of the midnight watch, the Duke cleared his throat thickly, "Will you… will you give me an assignment Uther?" he asked, his eyes twitching with masked emotion, "There must be a rebellion in need of disbanding, an enemy encroaching on Albion's soil… anything… just something far from here…"

"Gorlois, do you think it wise to-"

"I _beg_ you," interrupted the Duke fiercely as he grasped Uther tightly by the arm.

Uther placed his hand gently on his friend's shoulder as he attempted to sooth him, "You must give yourself time to grieve my friend."

"_No!_" cried Gorlois, his voice choking with misery, "I cannot continue thinking on it… it is too hard. She completed me Uther – in every way. The day you rejected her was the happiest day of my life!"

An uncomfortable silence grew between the two men like a chasm, both men standing awkwardly apart from one another as those words hung frozen in the air.

"Forgive me," muttered the young knight eventually, hanging his head dejectedly, "I don't know what I'm saying…"

"No," rejoined Uther quickly, "You are right, I did reject her. I should have stood up to my brother but at the time it seemed impossible… that is no excuse, I know," he said, shaking his head remorsefully, "but I do regret how I treated Lornán more than _anything_ and-"

"You regret?" interrupted Gorlois, his eyes wide with disbelief.

"Yes," replied the King, ignorant of his friend's outrage, "and you have no idea how thankful I am that she found such happiness with you."

"How _thankful_ you are?" he repeated angrily, his lips trembling with rage, "My, what pretty words are these my Lord?"

Uther said nothing, simply staring at Gorlois in confusion as the Duke continued his tirade, "How easily they slip from your tongue when it is too late to speak them to Lornán herself."

"Gorlois I-"

"Do you not know how difficult these past few months have been for her, returning to court?" demanded the knight hotly, "Always feeling_ your_ disdain for our relationship and putting up with the gossips forever speculating about our status at court… and only now that she is dead can you say aloud that you were happy for her?"

Uther stared wide eyed at the Duke, a hundred emotions flashing across his face as he struggled to justify being spoken to in such a way with the pain his friend was obviously feeling.

With a sigh the King nodded slowly, his blue-grey eyes full of sympathy and regret, "You are right of course... my pride made things difficult and for that I am truly sorry."

Hearing Uther's honest, heart-felt words knocked the air from the Duke's hate-filled sails and in an instant his anger had dissipated, his shoulders sagging visibly, "It is too late for apologies Uther," he replied sadly, "She is gone… and I fear I shall be empty forever."

"Not completely empty," contradicted the King, "for now you have a daughter to think of also."

"Morgana…" breathed Gorlois weakly, his eyes widening as he thought of his new-born child for the first time, "Her name was the last thing that Lornán whispered to me before…" his words trailed away leaving his sentence unfinished, the pain in his eyes telling the story his words could not.

"You must go to her," said Uther, nudging the Duke toward the stairway.

Nodding slowly, Gorlois began to walk toward the door before turning to the King once more and gripping his arm tightly, "I am all the child has," he said urgently, his eyes boring into Uther's, "You must promise me that if anything happens to me, you would look after her."

Uther stared earnestly at his friend as he placed his right hand over his heart, "I pray that this will _never_ be necessary…" he replied grimly, "but you have my solemn oath that if anything should befall you, I would of course care for your daughter as if she were my own."

* * *

_**A/N ~ Just a short chapter this time, the last one kinda took it out of me a little bit! **_

_**J**__**ust wanted to say thank you SO much for my small band of faithful reviewers as we hit the 100 review mark:~ Mnemosyne77, WitchyWeasel, Foxie Roxie, Mel1592, Pink Koala, Christina B and Darkenwood. I'm really plowing ahead with the plot-lines now and I don't think that I could have done it without your encouragement and support so thank you! Also a big thank you to White As Snow who is brining up the rear on the story but is still reviewing each and every chapter that she reads which is so amazing - thanks everyone... :D x**_


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